MELITA
She was content with the destruction of that stupid foot, watching it flicker and fall apart into pieces, with the snapping of his hand, with the breaking of so many other nuances. “Good.” To all of it: they’re even accords, they’re schisms of ridiculousness. She didn’t feel the least bit sorry either – even as Fangorn hissed, shaking his head, in either disappointment, dismay, or everything else crumbling together. All she could do thereafter was snort, no apologies extended, as petulant as the rise of the mountains, turning her head, and leaving, further and further down the stretch of stalls.{-fin}
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
