M E L I T A
Thank the gods for Rexanna, who’d never seemed to judge her, who never tried to rein her in, who always seemed wiser, worldly, experienced in the layers Melita had never ventured between. They were comrades in ignorance, but so willing to try and understand; the girl suddenly wished she’d gone to her side when the roars and bellowing had begun at the height of the Spire’s brawling, but she’d been too miserable, too burdened, too misshapen by the words and vitriol flowing past martyrs, saviors, and mutineers.
But she could be the bold one again, here and now.
“I don’t know.” She couldn’t answer any question, wrinkling her nose in thought as she concentrated, as she observed, as she watched individual after individual, stranger after stranger, waltz up to the burning wheel and ignite their candle. There were no words exchanged. There were no prayers or pleas uttered. It was a silent dedication, and she was frustrated that they’d simply continue to wallow in their state of ineptitude. What if all of them filled up – what were they supposed to do then? Stop and stare?
The devilish calls residing in the back of her mind coiled and smirked, thinking they could remove one and hardly anyone would be the wiser – but Rexanna’s next assertions cut out the segment, but not the Cheshire grin enveloping over Melita’s lips. “I suppose not. They do love their riots here.” It was tongue-in-cheek, a little ribbing of defiance shifting along her Outlander lacquer, but they truly were the outsiders looking in, not yearning to cause more damage. Enough had been committed already.
Her eyes caught the same candle eventually extinguished, its tiny flame fading, fading, and fading, until it was only remnants of fire and smoke. The youth moved a tiny bit closer, until they seemed to inch their way towards the table, and the wheel and its emblazoned spokes were the only things before them. “Let’s try it.” It was audacious again, likely foolish and absurd, but with no directions and no one around to question, they could certainly attempt what others had done. She followed the movements as best she could, glancing here and there to see if some wandering soul was coming to chastise them, before grabbing hold of another ignited candle and leaning its vivid, bright flame close to the one that had perished. Another seemed to follow suit nearby, its embers drained and tired, listless and languid, granting
