you must burn brighter than ever
She tilted her head at the wistful notion – because those days were long since gone, and Melita could only remember bits and pieces of notions, of moments, where she hadn’t felt the grip of fear, torment, or anguish. Moments with toes spread in the sand, of splashing around in the oasis, of a world surrounded by crimson mountains and draconic calls, leathery wings scaling the vibrantly red heights. Or flowers, pressed against her nose, chasing down bumblebees and pretending she could hum their song. Her head bowed for a second, pondering whether or not to acknowledge the sentiments gathering behind her teeth, but then they slipped out anyway, meant to be whimsical, and not angst-riddled, melancholic. “What was your favorite thing before you came here?” Outlanders – prone to their memories, their whims, their mercies before being pulled away.
Then she waited quietly, hands neatly folded in her lap, or a finger tracing over a stray petal, while Aurelia inspected her wares. The crown atop her head didn’t falter when she nodded. “Maybe?” She shrugged; perhaps when they returned, she’d take them to Nate or some other local apothecary, see what they were worth. “Cool,” the smuggler echoed, then laughed, shaking her cranium, with the wild locks and diadems circling over the venture.
Locke’s comings and goings didn’t necessarily bother Melita – not like they would with those she was close to. Some wandered. Some meandered. Some traversed and traveled far and wide to find what they wanted, to settle on what they’d become. It was only the inquiry thereafter, and the insinuation thereafter, that had her giggling again. “From Ludo. The staff was always one of my favorite weapons,” used to defend herself multiple times within the Rift, to fend off monsters, to protect family.
Then she waited quietly, hands neatly folded in her lap, or a finger tracing over a stray petal, while Aurelia inspected her wares. The crown atop her head didn’t falter when she nodded. “Maybe?” She shrugged; perhaps when they returned, she’d take them to Nate or some other local apothecary, see what they were worth. “Cool,” the smuggler echoed, then laughed, shaking her cranium, with the wild locks and diadems circling over the venture.
Locke’s comings and goings didn’t necessarily bother Melita – not like they would with those she was close to. Some wandered. Some meandered. Some traversed and traveled far and wide to find what they wanted, to settle on what they’d become. It was only the inquiry thereafter, and the insinuation thereafter, that had her giggling again. “From Ludo. The staff was always one of my favorite weapons,” used to defend herself multiple times within the Rift, to fend off monsters, to protect family.
Melita
