every time she burns to ashes
There were still no bruises or marks across her neck, but she felt their force just the same, another night, another evening, spent in either torture or no slumber at all. It left her irritable, far more than regular, volatile doses, kicking and stomping her way through corridor after corridor, hall after hall, Fangorn restlessly diving out of the way. Waiting for it to pass over had been sickening, horrific, and impossible to erase from her head; perhaps a warning, not to let her memories go so easily, when their gnarled nails and claws had gotten hold of some knot.
Eventually her sour mood lightened, more walks along beaches, by the sea, skipping rocks and collecting shells, before she ultimately wandered into Haulani itself, bag on her shoulder and Fangorn in the crook of her arm. There wasn’t any purpose to her motions other than actual movement, distractions, deterrents, from the plague nested in her brain. At least within the market, there were too many bodies, too many people, too many other things to focus on, then the rapacious edges of hands wrapped around her throat.
In fact, once her gilded eyes peeled away from a kiosk of rather old-looking fish, she caught a familiar sight amidst a sea of strangers. Raza appeared busy, far more intent than the honeybee youth, but it didn’t stop her (it was a rare occasion when anything did), a walk and some elbows thrown in to get to the bar owner’s side – the glint of pretty things catching her gaze too. “Raza!” A greeting, uncertain if the woman cared for content, happier, chirping tidings, and maybe indifferent to it too. The girl was a bit tired of surly, grumpy contortions all the time. “How are you?”
Eventually her sour mood lightened, more walks along beaches, by the sea, skipping rocks and collecting shells, before she ultimately wandered into Haulani itself, bag on her shoulder and Fangorn in the crook of her arm. There wasn’t any purpose to her motions other than actual movement, distractions, deterrents, from the plague nested in her brain. At least within the market, there were too many bodies, too many people, too many other things to focus on, then the rapacious edges of hands wrapped around her throat.
In fact, once her gilded eyes peeled away from a kiosk of rather old-looking fish, she caught a familiar sight amidst a sea of strangers. Raza appeared busy, far more intent than the honeybee youth, but it didn’t stop her (it was a rare occasion when anything did), a walk and some elbows thrown in to get to the bar owner’s side – the glint of pretty things catching her gaze too. “Raza!” A greeting, uncertain if the woman cared for content, happier, chirping tidings, and maybe indifferent to it too. The girl was a bit tired of surly, grumpy contortions all the time. “How are you?”
she knows how to rise again
Melita
