MELITA
The youth nodded, gaze not on the blacksmith, but glancing everywhere else – mesmerized briefly by flows of lava, by intricate designs of magma, where everything came together in glorious fire. Perhaps she’d have to visit more often, once all of these trials and tribulations blew over (did they ever?). “You can get more while we’re here.” In case didn’t echo from her lips, but the thought encased and embroiled itself. Further notions on the Voice resounded along cavern walls, and she could fathom, understand, why it would feel like betrayal on the parts of Old God followers, her reasons were more from experience, what she’d suffered, and been afflicted with. “I doubt she’d force anyone to Ascend. That doesn’t seem to be her method.” But something else? A trick? A layer of deception? Or merely playing the nice one in all the layers of these acrimonies? It wouldn’t surprise Melita. “I had the blight years ago. Which she and the Ascended caused. She didn’t do anything about it.” Let them fester and decay; it’d been Vi’s Roses, plucking them, that had committed to the healing.
Fangorn vined his way ahead of her, sniffing at the ground, and she tilted her head, eyes widening at Oliver’s announcement and proclamation. “Oh, I didn’t – I didn’t know.” A softened smile, somewhat impressed that he’d strived and attempted to go against the Wraith in a political game, but not surprised Wessex had retained her position of power again. What she’d do with it would be anyone’s guess. The notion of her old mentor schismed something in her chest, and she labored on, hitching her bag further up her shoulder. “At least you tried.”
Her gaze settled nearby - and then she saw the flower. A loud gasp, a rush forward, crouching, studying, examining, mouth agape. "Do you think this is it?"
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
