Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
Melita didn’t expect to see a ghost.
Perhaps she should’ve though – after everything else from the past few seasons. Instead, she and Fangorn wandered along the light of the full moon, another game of avoidance from relatives and kin. A skip, a frolic, a twirl, unafraid, unbothered, casting her wake of indulgence and treachery with seditious little steps and maneuvers. The weapons on her back, and her emboldened means, her defiant measures, were always at her beck and call. What was there to fear?
She meandered down by the Fingers, not one of her usual haunts, drawn there because she figured no one else would be. But then there was a barrage of noise, a sudden crack, that gave her an untimely pause.
A lift of her head, following, tracking the resounding, echoing, bounding clamor, drawn into its voids like a moth – her eyes narrowed, catching the telltale wisps of familiarity further and further down the coastline’s reaches. Where the water swayed and the woman didn’t. “Maea?” A loosening of breath, of confusion, of a time where the dead had risen again in the hands of the Voice – and the word left her lips before she could ponder if it had been a mistake.
Perhaps she should’ve though – after everything else from the past few seasons. Instead, she and Fangorn wandered along the light of the full moon, another game of avoidance from relatives and kin. A skip, a frolic, a twirl, unafraid, unbothered, casting her wake of indulgence and treachery with seditious little steps and maneuvers. The weapons on her back, and her emboldened means, her defiant measures, were always at her beck and call. What was there to fear?
She meandered down by the Fingers, not one of her usual haunts, drawn there because she figured no one else would be. But then there was a barrage of noise, a sudden crack, that gave her an untimely pause.
A lift of her head, following, tracking the resounding, echoing, bounding clamor, drawn into its voids like a moth – her eyes narrowed, catching the telltale wisps of familiarity further and further down the coastline’s reaches. Where the water swayed and the woman didn’t. “Maea?” A loosening of breath, of confusion, of a time where the dead had risen again in the hands of the Voice – and the word left her lips before she could ponder if it had been a mistake.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
