but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
There was half a moment where she stared at his hand, thought about not taking it. There’d been other instances, long, long before, where she wouldn’t have hesitated at all – leapt and bound and strived to be within the glow of family, because she’d had it taken away from her time and time again, and it had been a new opportunity. Another chance. Then they seemed to chip off and away, stray from clear, concise pathways, veer off into other directions, and now she remained, wary and uncertain, from all the other occurrences. A part of her still needed the contact just as badly too – but her eyes lowered, dropped to the surface of the table, as one hand unwrapped itself from her staff and slipped into his.
She could remember the slightest of commotions, a ripple effect in the crowd, from the reception. She hadn’t recognized the man standing beside Zeph, hadn’t realized all the hubbub, all the dramatics, all the theatrics playing across the scene. “I do.” A firm nod. Her memories went back to the time she’d found Sunjata covered in blood; that other trace and foundation of a man not a shape shifter, not an Attuned, but something else altogether. “How does he alter himself?”
She could remember the slightest of commotions, a ripple effect in the crowd, from the reception. She hadn’t recognized the man standing beside Zeph, hadn’t realized all the hubbub, all the dramatics, all the theatrics playing across the scene. “I do.” A firm nod. Her memories went back to the time she’d found Sunjata covered in blood; that other trace and foundation of a man not a shape shifter, not an Attuned, but something else altogether. “How does he alter himself?”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
