MELITA
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to ascertain who he was in the binding, blinding haze, in the shadows creeping back over her eyes. He wasn’t completely familiar to her, like many of those in the background, in the scenery, in the surroundings, while she was absorbed in some other tasks. But his tone was soothing, placating, and as she shook her head, to rid herself of the monstrous blight trying to swallow her down again, she listened, striving to extract his words, her hands slipping to her forehead, pain bounding behind her brows. “Need anything…” Something to rid her of this plague, of this pestilence, of this thing eating away at her, scarring her, scorching against her, but that was already obvious, their efforts too ineffectual, wasted. A message to anyone? Wessex already knew; she’d made that much certain when her wounding words had haunted and leapt and threatened – chasing down one of the core figures in her life. “Can you tell Wessex I’m sorry? And…” Had she gone after anyone else? She couldn’t remember. The honeybee girl choked down the bile contorting and cloaking down her throat, tossing her head again, crouching and curling back into a ball on the ground, barely upright and mobile as her skull kept reverberating with anguish. Did she have anyone else that would’ve cared? That could’ve done something? Did it matter, really, in the scheme of things, when she was damned and doomed to return straight back into this molten-fueled agony?She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
