Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
A lady she was not – no prim and proper miss, all fire and guts and vitriol, a curl of fire at her seams, molten veils ready to be extended at a moment’s notice. She had no qualms in getting her hands dirty, either in blood or debris, as she separated two boards from one another, placing one aside, studying it for a moment, pondering if it was salvageable. Fangorn grumbled, and gnawed on it, while she whisked away to the other, maintaining the semblance of their pattern, and permitting it to settle into the cart.
He turned towards her with an inquiry, and her brow arched, head taking on a radiant, wild tilt as conspiracies and furtive gestures appeared to unwind. With an impish air, she collected another board, a trickle of water dispersing, splashing from the force of her movement. “Yes.” That he worked for the Ark too was a curious note, because she’d never recognized or seen him before. That could’ve been from her lack of perception or attention though, and not his fault. “What’s your job?”
He turned towards her with an inquiry, and her brow arched, head taking on a radiant, wild tilt as conspiracies and furtive gestures appeared to unwind. With an impish air, she collected another board, a trickle of water dispersing, splashing from the force of her movement. “Yes.” That he worked for the Ark too was a curious note, because she’d never recognized or seen him before. That could’ve been from her lack of perception or attention though, and not his fault. “What’s your job?”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
