there's always a glimmer in those
She listened, acute to nothing but the sounds of others speaking now, something else burning behind her eyes, the wards of uselessness dragging, coiling, reaching low into the pit of her stomach. She could hear Sunjata’s notions of glad she was okay, but she hadn’t suffered nearly as much as others, and there was a conflagration she wanted to spur upon herself, for weaknesses, for incapabilities, for trying and trying and trying and it mattering to so very little. The youth nodded, biting back a thousand blistering motions for herself, eyes turning to Oliver, to sear in the information –
Except it plunged and punctured more of her heart, and she sat up straighter, spine taut, mouth aghast, open, horrified. Aoife, dead? The little tiny child of the stars, dead? Remi disappeared? More and more deceased, youths inclining, soaked up in the reverie, in the rapture, of another festival, vanquished without a trace? Her fingers shook and her chest ached, eyes flickering back to the wall, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes because she was so, so, so tired of all of this. Why did it keep happening? Why why why blasted an angry fume and plume in her vocals and she was silent in their stewing, tumultuous fury and sorrow – for Remi, for Ronin, for little babes who didn’t get to do anything more than breathe for an instant, and then gone in the next. Helovia, the Rift, the worlds cracking and splintering all over again. “I’m so sorry,” she said to nothing and no one in particular, a fissured nuance, a shattering of strength. The honeybee youth thought about leaving entirely, about making things for the wall, about rampaging and throwing her fists upon the ground, about fits of fury that would never really matter.
Except it plunged and punctured more of her heart, and she sat up straighter, spine taut, mouth aghast, open, horrified. Aoife, dead? The little tiny child of the stars, dead? Remi disappeared? More and more deceased, youths inclining, soaked up in the reverie, in the rapture, of another festival, vanquished without a trace? Her fingers shook and her chest ached, eyes flickering back to the wall, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes because she was so, so, so tired of all of this. Why did it keep happening? Why why why blasted an angry fume and plume in her vocals and she was silent in their stewing, tumultuous fury and sorrow – for Remi, for Ronin, for little babes who didn’t get to do anything more than breathe for an instant, and then gone in the next. Helovia, the Rift, the worlds cracking and splintering all over again. “I’m so sorry,” she said to nothing and no one in particular, a fissured nuance, a shattering of strength. The honeybee youth thought about leaving entirely, about making things for the wall, about rampaging and throwing her fists upon the ground, about fits of fury that would never really matter.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
