every time she burns to ashes
He hid from her, and she wasn’t certain why; wondering if she failed far more than the world had let on. Her eyes went to rest on the sand for a moment, quiet and contemplative, watching a few tiny crabs scurrying by, angled away from shadows and heading towards the sun. A quiet breath, and her hands were in his, fingers clutching on much larger ones, but both calloused and worn from their weapons, from their strife, from their lacerations, from their wounds a thousand times over.
The first statement stunned her, and she strived not to show a glimpsing moment of panic – of not being enough, of being so stupid and so dumb and so ineffectual that she’d left them long enough for the Ascended to wander off into the midst. The apprehension buoyed in her throat, and she tried to calm it down, down, down, wondering if these were part of the hallucinations, of the sicknesses, or reality entirely. “Do you remember where you saw him last? We can go look for him.” She wouldn’t leave him alone again. The fiery youth had broken her own vow, and would work to re-forge it into something whole and real and tangible.
Her gilded eyes still tried to catch his, and a notch of something else clung to her gaze then, maybe a tear, maybe a perilous notion, of sacrifices and lost kin and battered, bruised souls. “Thank you for thinking of her.” She lifted one hand to dash away a stray tear on her cheek, in awe of selflessness in the face of fire and brimstone.
The first statement stunned her, and she strived not to show a glimpsing moment of panic – of not being enough, of being so stupid and so dumb and so ineffectual that she’d left them long enough for the Ascended to wander off into the midst. The apprehension buoyed in her throat, and she tried to calm it down, down, down, wondering if these were part of the hallucinations, of the sicknesses, or reality entirely. “Do you remember where you saw him last? We can go look for him.” She wouldn’t leave him alone again. The fiery youth had broken her own vow, and would work to re-forge it into something whole and real and tangible.
Her gilded eyes still tried to catch his, and a notch of something else clung to her gaze then, maybe a tear, maybe a perilous notion, of sacrifices and lost kin and battered, bruised souls. “Thank you for thinking of her.” She lifted one hand to dash away a stray tear on her cheek, in awe of selflessness in the face of fire and brimstone.
she knows how to rise again
Melita
