MELITA
Melita was by no means an artist. The youth could conquer any number of things: devastation, ruin, annihilation, false gods, and heavy, cumbersome losses – but trying her hand at anything remotely aesthetic hadn’t been successful. She could scale walls, she could fire arrows at moving targets, she could rapaciously edge her way into rebellion and disaster, but talents in singing, pretenses, any resemblance of elegance, or exquisite taste, might not have resided in her soul. This didn’t stop her from trying. Few things ever did.
Curiosity was a boundless thing in her entity too, and she sprung along the boundaries of the settlement, amongst residences and market life, Fangorn striving to keep up with her leaping strides again, when she came across the guild. The door was wide open. Inviting, enticing, an inveigling, specious route – practically begging for her to enter. She had stopped outside the threshold, half-inclined to poke her head in out of natural wonder, pondering over the complexities of such a world, of such a place, understanding Rexanna and her husband were housed here, but naught more. Fangorn hissed at her heels, and she considered, hearing babbles and squeaks somewhere nearby, eyes flicking back and forth over blank canvases and tapestries. “What do you think?” She whispered to her gourd companion, who merely grumbled and growled something in return.
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
