MELITA
She paused momentarily to stare at the painting, at the elements already there in either broad brushstrokes, or now more careful ones. Something was missing; the dunes, the cliffs, were all there - ah, one of her favored haunts hadn’t been melded into the scene. The youth reached over for several hues of blue paint, and then dabbled onward, portraying the oasis, where false sea met sand, where she’d once dove down and pretended to be a sea monster, roaring, screaming, shouting about calamity while the rest of them laughed, splashed, acted as honored heroes and fabled legends. It put a light smile upon her face, to retrace the scene, the moments, instead of yearning for the things he couldn’t have – But she listened too, tilting her head a fraction at his question – as if she’d misunderstood it. Her, in the Artist’s Sanctuary? Was he asking her to join? The girl nearly dropped the brush, grabbing hold of it last minute and tossing it back and forth between her fingers. “I’m…I’m not sure. I don’t know if I’d be cut out for it.” Her entire life had been about chaos, about bedlam, about menace, about violence and vehemence, about reaching, reaching, reaching for weapons, for munitions, to defend the world with, not a damn about herself, not a damn about the cretins threatening those she cared for. Something gentler, something elegant, something aesthetically-pleasing sounded so bizarre and strange – yet here she was, layering down blended colors and definitions of a world long since gone.
Befuddled and bewildered, she could only ease back a breath, calming, composing; wondering if wandering out of her comfort zone would be something she should be grasping, with teeth, with nails, with claws.
Then they were talking about Rexanna though, and she swallowed down the fluttering bits of nervousness and apprehension, collecting herself as she applied more streaks of blue to the water. The tiny grin crept back into place, eyes on the painting, on the canvas. “She’ll be successful.” A conviction, a promise, for the Penumbra, who’d managed to emerge victorious despite missing eyes; because she was still alive, and that counted for something.
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
