M E L I T A
The wild youth would’ve liked to think of herself as a great scholar, capable of taking anything and everything in; but she understood herself too well to ever fully regard herself in the art of sagacity and wisdom. She was too hasty, too reckless, too ridiculous; preferring the grand upheaval to the slow and steady machinations. Impetuousness was her only true oeuvre, a masterpiece of sheer will, determination, and heedless actions: endeavors meant to be swift, seditious, and irreverent. She was a smoking gun, finger on the trigger, eager to ignite, to explode, at a moment’s notice: a demon on the prowl, a savage, sinister threat to her friends, to her family. Life hadn’t instructed her on how to settle beyond revolution and chaos; peace, repose, and the time to learn hadn’t even been on her mind.
To Alistair’s first retort, closer and closer still, she only arched a brow, rolled her eyes, and laughed. This was nothing and they both knew it, just practice, just notes of precision, just seconds and instances where she could breathe, and not immediately jump into the fray.
But she did as she was told, a pupil when given the right circumstances, breathing, barely even noticing how much closer he was. Her full intent was on meticulous details (for once; such a rarity it likely should’ve been documented somewhere), on impalement, on how to further devastate an enemy, gourd or otherwise. The motions came slowly at first, then the proper release was conducted, and she followed the movements keenly, efficiently, without haphazard actions, without destructive tendencies, without rushing headlong into something too big, too risky, too treacherous. Her eyes followed the pumpkin’s path as it lobbed briefly, then fell, without grace or distinction, upon the stick, firmly impaled and ruined.
“Yes!” She shouted, a fist raised over her head in triumph, as if she’d won the latest battle. “We did it!” She volleyed, silly and youthful, the vibrant, regal glow of glory glowing along the rise and fall of her smile. Her stare finally flickered back to Alistair’s impish and delighted, another mocking bow and curtsy extended towards him, but the gratitude was clear, warm, and resonant. “Thank you!”
