M E L I T A
The honeybee girl had taken the offer of the Rathskeller simply because she didn’t have anywhere else to go. She was used to survival, both only when she knew and understood the demons within – the Rift’s creatures and fiends had been easy to read and contemplate (first they went for one’s heart; then the soul). But the youth didn’t have anything but stories, myths, and legends cultivated around the LongNight intervals. Ordinarily she likely wouldn’t mind; would take to the adventure like she did everything else, with pluck, grit, and determination, a Cheshire grin etched along her mouth. But the misgivings, the apprehension, everyone seemed to have surrounding the oncoming stretch of bleak, gloomy evenings was enough to deter her, somewhat from rushing out into the Stygian landscape and trying her luck.
She actually hadn’t ventured down into the depths of the underground before; the terrain above had sated her curiosity for the time being, occupying her until she was forced to come down into the depths of safety and refuge. She nodded to the beings she passed by, waving to those briefly familiar, but not settling near the bar. Melita hadn’t had a drink since a silly celebratory party in Helovia, young, young, young, mostly on a dare and far too ridiculous to even be taken seriously. She’d been violently ill hours later, when awareness had been brought back into focus, when her head had been pounding, and when Iskra’s lectures had rung through her ears.
Best avoided, for now. She chose a seat nearby though, with a glass of water instead, biding her time until something else piqued her interest.
