M E L I T A
The ferocity, the contempt, the fury, pulsed, collected, and stung her lungs – and oh, it was delicious. She’d forgotten the relish of wrath, the contortion of despair and indignation, the scorching of her soul, the fire in her veins, the crush of opponents, the incensed escapes and consignments to oblivion. The girl had marked down injustices and sent vengeance in return, solidified the sedition in her bones with a glorious inhale, with a vehement ease; belligerence and acrimony unleashed from a tiny frame, a figure depleted of her sweetness. She thought about doing the same here – about releasing every amount of sorrow, anguish, and ire upon Kiada, about revisiting those stark, desolate moments where everything, everyone, she loved disappeared, died, met their demise in sacrifices and upheavals. Her fists clenched together, and her stare was marked in boldness, in impudence, in those audacious sparks of decadence and irreverence. Ignorance wasn’t an excuse in her eyes – because even those young, stupid, and inept at the time (much like herself), hadn’t begged or pleaded their way into Kaos’ heart, striving for tainted gains, blood of their friends, their families, their brethren, soaked and embedded in their hands. That had been Kiada’s beliefs, her system, her creed, likely catching onto the first siren song she’d heard and enticed, allured, beguiled by the bewitching quandaries and enigmas – Melita ground her teeth in exasperation as she listened to the pile of excuses, as she struggled, strived, to comprehend the layers of animosity and stupidity fanning the flames.
She understood the darkened sanctions of one’s heart though, where her greed lay, where her hatred scorned, where all the sugared substance of her livelihood ran empty, and she was just a vengeful sprite aching to repay all of the beings who’d ever wronged her. But, these instances were about choices, about options, about alternatives never taken or utilized, the wayward paths of desecration and ruin. Perhaps Kiada’s avarice and rapacity hadn’t been the only things circling her mind, her kin, her family alike – but at the cost, at the consequence, of so many others’ beloved, cherished things. Melita had always held the desire to protect, to shield, to serve those she loved the most – and not to the detriment of everyone around her. Maybe with time it wouldn’t have mattered, her actions might’ve held the same consequences eventually, her damage extending and rippling in too close quarters. But it did now, when she was full of spite and anger, when she hadn’t been able to liberate her outrage in so long. “The rest of us had to pay for them too.” The tones were fire and vitriol, embers and sparks along the course of Kiada’s softer, obliging vocals; Melita wasn’t done yet, an inferno incapable of being contained, yearning to pierce, to puncture, to rip, tear, and combust.
“How could you not understand? You saw what he did. We all witnessed him destroy our home and families. He killed our Gods.” Her eyes narrowed, vicious and unapologetic. Had Kiada merely sought his power – the way most things breathed in an ounce of potential and potency, and ran towards it, arms outstretched, knees falling to their newfound paragons? “You should’ve let him die.” Even if it had marked their own deaths, it would’ve been better to suddenly be nothing, rather than go on existing in one constant, never-ending nightmare. “A bearable place,” and here she laughed, high and bad-tempered, lacking any joy or exultation, tipped to the ground, to the heavens, with its broken sorrows and melancholies. “I watched Ampere try to attack her own sons. My mother’s ghost attempted to strangle me. Monsters hunted us day and night.” The rest of her tones slid out like a harsh, guttural whisper, not even bothering to hide her resentment and rancor, leaning towards Kiada even as she listed her regrets, her apologies. “It was never going to be tolerable.”
