there's always a glimmer in those
She listened; to the way they’d fought the mud monster, to how it hadn’t mattered, to the recollections of times and places where the patterns had been similar. Where brutality had reigned, and there were seconds where one believed they’d simply be extinguished. Where the dead rose and smothered the living. Where chasms opened wide to let hell consign them into further oblivion. Her gaze fell onto the ground, away from the memorial wall, destined to have others situated in its sanction – like every year they gained a couple more – listening to how they’d tried. How they’d strived. How they’d attempted. The girl wasn’t sure what to say anymore: what would gain traction, what would move them forward, what would make the guilt wane or the agony lessen.
Nothing, likely, but time.
Her head shook a little, uncertain about the monsters too. “We fought against a giant vampire gourd before and defeated it before it could get to the Greatwood. It was full of the blight.” What made any of these things grow and fester? “Sometimes it’s just how they grow and mutate.” She thought of the memory snow, of the gigantic flinthopper, of all the other things maneuvering and assembling in the shades.
Nothing, likely, but time.
Her head shook a little, uncertain about the monsters too. “We fought against a giant vampire gourd before and defeated it before it could get to the Greatwood. It was full of the blight.” What made any of these things grow and fester? “Sometimes it’s just how they grow and mutate.” She thought of the memory snow, of the gigantic flinthopper, of all the other things maneuvering and assembling in the shades.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
