back to basics

MELITA

The kindness extended to her here has always been baffling; she wasn’t sure why, because she’d experienced much of the same in Helovia, and then in the Rift. They’d always banded together somehow, someway, striving amidst their struggles, holding onto hopes and dreams when everything seemed to be splintering and fracturing apart. She took those ambitions with her to this world – assisted and helped, and then was guided along by so many individuals. She likely didn’t deserve it – she was too buoyant, too exuberant, too eager – but she wanted so many things at once that it itched and clawed at her movements, at her motions, made her determination sizzle against her spine and her heart. Maybe they all saw that spark, that spirit, that ridiculous nature of hers clambering to the forefront, and instead of maneuvering into her path, they altered it, designed it, for her to grow, for her to prosper.

The generosity was overwhelming, and she had to remember how to breathe after hearing it again and again. Her gratitude was immeasurable, and the youth didn’t think she could truly put it into words.

Join them? In the guildhall? Stop by whenever she liked? Did she merit such appreciation? Her first notion, despite all her boldness and audacity, was to balk and shy away; she wasn’t a worthy part of those fixtures, despite all her plans, all her ruses, all her schemes. She’d split and severed demons when they attacked and assaulted her family, but she’d also cried and sobbed in their wake, desperate and starving for signs of justice. Her features must’ve betrayed her a little, for Fangorn nudged at her ankles and bounded ahead, as if he made to go into the hall with or without her.

Her eyes lifted back to Ronin, and she couldn’t quite fathom her consternation, her apprehension, now of all times.

Perhaps she didn’t want to disappoint them, when she wasn’t good enough, when they discovered that despite all of her potential, training, and resolve, she couldn’t quite measure up.

She thought about hanging her head and retreating, coming back when she became more experienced, when she was wiser, when she was braver – but then that damned gourd kept hustling forward, embracing every inch of her previous, bold expanse, and she nodded her consent, inhaling the emblems and banners. She hoped Ronin wouldn’t regret the invitations. “Sure!” She visibly brightened, marked and outlined by paint along her face, following close behind.

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