but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
While Fangorn settled, Melita remained a restless thing. It pooled in her muscles and extended through her fingers, so they itched and pulsed with the need to move. She crouched back towards her bag, listening, head bowed, as she organized the contents instead of leaving them in their haphazard arrangement, puzzling through the conflicting ruminations in her mind.
Poor Milo. The honeybee was fully aware she dragged him all over the place and he merely agreed to it – maybe too easygoing for his own good. “Only if he wants,” she shrugged, tired of this listless vibration rippling through her shoulders – wanting to rip it off like a bandage. Wanting to flee out of her skin. Wanting to surge across boundaries and entangle her way through fire and embers and flames instead of tying herself into these bizarre knots. Knuckles and bones and fragments of cinders; little pieces of coal flung around. What was the point of sailing? Of smuggling? When other things were surging?
She didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue. Never really had.
Melita only rose again when the words came across – something bristled in between her ribs and lungs, and she swallowed down the trace of its filaments as it echoed in her throat. “I did.” And about the companion. What Melita would've done, what she had threatened to do before, if anyone or anything had ever come after Fangorn. About everything else. “I thought I would just stay out of it.” Sunjata’s business again, and Aurelia’s now too apparently, because the former invited so many, and she only knew so much on the latter’s. She’d warred her way through enough; and no one seemed bothered to listen anyway.
With a sigh, she coiled her hair into a braid, striving to get it out of her face. “Do you want to blow off some steam? I need more practice with my knives.” More than death and desecration and other things she didn't want to name or feel.
Poor Milo. The honeybee was fully aware she dragged him all over the place and he merely agreed to it – maybe too easygoing for his own good. “Only if he wants,” she shrugged, tired of this listless vibration rippling through her shoulders – wanting to rip it off like a bandage. Wanting to flee out of her skin. Wanting to surge across boundaries and entangle her way through fire and embers and flames instead of tying herself into these bizarre knots. Knuckles and bones and fragments of cinders; little pieces of coal flung around. What was the point of sailing? Of smuggling? When other things were surging?
She didn’t know. She didn’t have a clue. Never really had.
Melita only rose again when the words came across – something bristled in between her ribs and lungs, and she swallowed down the trace of its filaments as it echoed in her throat. “I did.” And about the companion. What Melita would've done, what she had threatened to do before, if anyone or anything had ever come after Fangorn. About everything else. “I thought I would just stay out of it.” Sunjata’s business again, and Aurelia’s now too apparently, because the former invited so many, and she only knew so much on the latter’s. She’d warred her way through enough; and no one seemed bothered to listen anyway.
With a sigh, she coiled her hair into a braid, striving to get it out of her face. “Do you want to blow off some steam? I need more practice with my knives.” More than death and desecration and other things she didn't want to name or feel.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
