Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
If Melita was disappointed that Maea didn’t rise to her silent, emboldened challenge, then she didn’t show it. A flicker, a flare, of a glare, and nothing more. Attention dissipated to movement and motion of strings and strands thereafter, to watch in the pale glow of moonlight, to witness someone who once catered to the same herald, remain in the glimpse of a newer divinity. The youth nearly voiced, nearly wondered outloud, in some spiteful little venture, if Maea had been to see Ludo since. If there was some sentiment of betrayal in the foundations of survival again. If it even mattered in the end, when all of them, and each and every single individual, were just trying to stay alive as best they could.
The arrow hit, striking against the center, and the youth nodded. “Yes.” A satisfactory condition; the armament finding its place within Maea’s hand, and no residual guilt left in the honeybee’s frame. “Anything else?” That she wanted to try? Or was that enough, to pretend they were aligned for a singular moment?
The arrow hit, striking against the center, and the youth nodded. “Yes.” A satisfactory condition; the armament finding its place within Maea’s hand, and no residual guilt left in the honeybee’s frame. “Anything else?” That she wanted to try? Or was that enough, to pretend they were aligned for a singular moment?
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
