MELITA
Fangorn, in response, waved some of his viney tendrils, but had no way of communicating either, past the point of grumbling. Melita pondered over the efforts the mermaid made – knowing full well they were capable of communicating, given the grand demonstration another had attempted to concoct on her. Her head tilted again, quiet for once, as if the hushed emblems might ensure she could concentrate, hone in on the issue, her own trials and tribulations forgotten in the instance. A narrowing of her gilded gaze followed, like the flickering of cinders and embers, reeling from within.I can’t talk. “Oh, sorry.” All she’d done thus far was apologize or presume, so the youth sighed, shifting back again, pulling and pushing some of her crimson mane out of her face. A notion, an idea came to mind, but she was uncertain in its parameters too, given circumstances of watery confines, but it was worth a shot. “Can you write?” She made a gesture, as if picking up a piece of charcoal or pencil, floating it in quick, clean strokes within the air.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
