Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Different in ties and knots; the girl nodded, clarity springing into action. They didn’t have to draw themselves to shrines and linger in the threshold of their heralds and deities. It was a choice, an option, to bend their heads and scrape their knees, deliver offerings and prayers. The Ascended were limited in that coercion; and if the Voice was mauled, what happened to the rest of her flock? Dangerous propositions all the way around – even while Melita wondered if a change wasn’t necessarily a bad thing (would they gain their own dependence, away from the goddess?)– or if mere supposition, and the alterations might be ever more severe instead of good.
She wrinkled her nose and breathed in deep, before pouring herself another glass, content with the notion of everything else blindingly fading out of her senses. “Would he need anything else down there?” What for supplies, once they’d carved it out? “And what kind of traps do you want?” There was a thought about asking Ludo, and then the notion was hastily shoved away; considering how the herald had wanted the Ascended murdered at one time, she doubted warding something off for that particular race wouldn’t go over well.
She wrinkled her nose and breathed in deep, before pouring herself another glass, content with the notion of everything else blindingly fading out of her senses. “Would he need anything else down there?” What for supplies, once they’d carved it out? “And what kind of traps do you want?” There was a thought about asking Ludo, and then the notion was hastily shoved away; considering how the herald had wanted the Ascended murdered at one time, she doubted warding something off for that particular race wouldn’t go over well.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
