there's always a glimmer in those
The need, the necessity – Melita could understand that too. Sometimes it was a quiet, building thing, and it didn’t prod into reality until something else came along with it (and in this case – death, massive casualties); too little, too late. A part of her wanted to weave the notion that even those still so strong, so forbidding, so capable hadn’t been able to conquer things like false gods, had sacrificed themselves, had fallen apart at the seams just like everyone else. All that remained were the cast-offs, the young, the weak, or the swift; and they’d clambered together to make something of themselves. It was why she never ceased fighting: the fear the moment she stopped, someone else would pay the price.
Phoebe had been there too then, like Sunjata, trying to stave off the monster – mattering little in the end, when everything came crashing down upon them – and the words but at least you tried were on her lips, until the other girl mentioned her nephews. Gone, just like that – in a snap, in a flash, drummed down into oblivion. Instead, while her hands wove, trancelike in the plaitwork, gone into inherent, instinctual measures as her mind traced the self-scorn, the self-loathing, voice quieting in the hushed threads. “I lost my sister like that too. I tried, but I wasn’t enough.” I’m so sorry might’ve left her mouth too, but it felt useless and meek in the onslaught. Everything else she could understand: resolve and determination filling in the gaps, in a nod, on a sigh. “Where do you want to start?”
Phoebe had been there too then, like Sunjata, trying to stave off the monster – mattering little in the end, when everything came crashing down upon them – and the words but at least you tried were on her lips, until the other girl mentioned her nephews. Gone, just like that – in a snap, in a flash, drummed down into oblivion. Instead, while her hands wove, trancelike in the plaitwork, gone into inherent, instinctual measures as her mind traced the self-scorn, the self-loathing, voice quieting in the hushed threads. “I lost my sister like that too. I tried, but I wasn’t enough.” I’m so sorry might’ve left her mouth too, but it felt useless and meek in the onslaught. Everything else she could understand: resolve and determination filling in the gaps, in a nod, on a sigh. “Where do you want to start?”
who have been through the dark
MELITA
