MELITA
More designs in the ash, more billowing words in her brain. Her fingers painted figments of yesteryears with implements of fire, her eyes on soil rather than on Hotaru. She had seen the mob. She’d been inside the burning house, trying to save kittens and companions. She’d heard about the Priest. “Sunjata doesn’t care, well…only about Nate.” Not a difficult argument to make, striving to slant it that she was really no one’s enemy. And for some reason she didn’t give a damn either – blasé and unaffected, ready and willing to fight for herself. That was how she’d survived for so long anyway, and from a tender, young age. Gone were ramparts of childhood, sending honeybees straight into flames. And she’d taken them all into her hands – every last ember, every last speck of coal, carving infernos in her wake. “I wouldn’t be worth it.” A shrug followed; not weakened or sobered by the notions, merely speaking the truth. “And I would fight back.” With every tooth, nail, weapon, and justification in her arsenal.Fangorn’s vines whipped across the loam, and she followed the curlicue lines and patterns imprinted into its veneer. Instead of catering to the stretches of paranoia, other than the potential for making the house a defensive mechanism, her eyes flickered upwards, back to the woman before her. "What about you? Where are you going to stand in all of this?”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
