MELITA
It had happened again – spiraling, spiraling, spiraling into the cool pits of darkness, thriving in amongst its shades, its decadence, its splendor, forgoing the rites of fire and flame, forgetting what it meant to be enduring and persevering. She’d caved in and been spun into sonnets of ether and bloodlust again, fanned fumes of terror and treachery – and to who but Rexanna, someone who hadn’t deserved it, not one modicum, not by any amount. But then she was engulfed, surrounded by arms and warmth, and she wasn’t worth this either, the comforting, the indulgence, not for her crimes, not for her malice, not for all the wretched instances she’d concocted and unleashed. The youth still took the offering, greedy and avaricious even when the disease was no longer coiled in her fixtures, in her eyes – because how long had it been since she was afforded any ease, any tranquility, any repose? “It’s not okay,” she warbled, mumbled, into Rexanna’s embrace. “None of this is okay.” Her head shook back and forth against fabric, adamant on her stance, on the way this earth had churned and turned her over. The youth tried not to cry either, holding them at bay, rooting them behind her eyes, swallowing down the bile threatening to coat over her soul. Maybe someone should just vanquish her right then and there, be done with it; slay the monster, kill the beast, before she could concoct any more damage.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
