MELITA
If truths were to be shared, Melita didn’t quite understand this pale woman. While her love and devotion towards Sunjata were evident, it also seemed to be the only thing she discussed. Perhaps that was due to the honeybee child’s existence, niece and kin to the Flood, but didn’t Maea have anything else to occupy her time? Her eyes wandered from the aspects of the room, already taken apart, and down to the bow in the ghost’s hands. Melita thought of her own quiver, ready and eager to be unfurled, unleashed, with fire, with vitriol, and the bracelet tucked along her wrist, fervent for the fray.Her gaze riveted back to the phantom, merely arching a brow at her agreement. Hope being all she had though – the youth thought about sneering back a retort, but instead let it die, let it fade. Some aspects of it sounded desperate, and others just sad. Maea might be waiting decades for Sunjata to figure out what the hell he was doing in his life. Maybe this was why she was only tied to people by familial bonds, or why she didn't focus on romantic involvements. There was always a possibility of compassion and adoration, but also everything being torn asunder. She'd had enough of that in her short life.
The question ambled back to her again though. The girl pretended to ponder: the only thing that would hold her back was the possibility of joining the Ark’s crew; if she’d be busy manning cannons, loading supplies, or exploring the world. “I will try,” was the only thing she could surmise, the slightest smile etched in the corner of her mouth.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
