M E L I T A
A sense of pride flickered over her – bright and ebullient – as they worked. It was intriguing, and inspiring, to witness and collaborate amidst a group of strangers; it reminded her so keenly of those moments in the Rift, where support was only a few feet, a roar, a shout, or a howl away, where everyone pledged to assist no matter the outcome. Perhaps it’d been one of the few things good and just to come out of the condemned world; because family hadn’t been linked solely by blood, and comrades, allies, had been around every corner. Safety had been in numbers, in defense, in assaults and sieges, in those unsaid pledges and vows. She did the same here, along those familiar outlines, smiling to herself.
She maneuvered where she was required, hands grasping hold of beams and ensuring they remained still amongst the others. Her eyes would glance up every so often to watch everything take shape – and she hoped, she hoped, something would come of this, that the Spark Bird would eventually sink down upon the illustrious perch and stay – flames and embers, infernos and power, dominion and might, a symbol of respite amidst the ominous LongNight. No matter the outcome, Melita thought the end results would be magnificent, a blend of strangers forming poetry and handiwork; all for the sake of something grand, something wonderful.
