MELITA
There was more safety in Rexanna’s reassurance, in the preambles and preludes to further disaster. Perhaps she’d fully recover, and nothing would happen. Perhaps she wouldn’t, and there’d be one more broken wave of shambles and fissures to correct – try as she might, and gods, she always tried, the potential for ruin was always there, brimming and brewing in the back of her mind. It’d been heightened, rooted, and scorched all the more by the tempestuous, enticing, inveigling quandaries of the Stygian abyss, and even now, she wondered how long it would take to swallow, devour, and consume her whole again. “Thank you again,” the girl said once more, as if she couldn’t say it enough, as if she could recite it a thousand times over and it still wouldn’t hit the edge of her sorrows and drowning need for forgiveness, for extending her regrets. “I should go,” was another murmur, melancholy and despondent, because she didn’t want to, because Rexanna was comfort and she craved its absolution and freedom – but she couldn’t hurt her. Not anymore. Not in the future. So she slipped away, brushing aside the tears from her eyes, the threats looming and blooming in the back of her mind, and on a feral, subtle little wave, she extinguished her pathways, wandering back into the night – desperately afraid of what might happen thereafter.See I've come to burn your kingdom down
