MELITA
It’s just you scraped into her brain, but didn’t linger in its scalding depths for long (one day they’ll see me as more than just that, she promised in the back of her mind, illustrious and gilded); there are valuable things kindling in the dust of the woods. She tilted her head, listening to Phoebe’s tale, how she’d asked the gods (Frey) for a way to defend herself and others. There was half a moment where Melita nearly asked her why she didn’t just train as the honeybee girl did, allowing her muscles and bones to ache, to become stronger, more enduring, eager and ready to face whatever fray came their way. Why did she need the Gods to grant her something she could have acquired on her own? Melita would never have thought, or even asked – but perhaps that was the difference between the two, and so many others. The Gods hadn’t ever glanced upon the firebrand – despite her love and faith in the Sun and his blazing infernos, he succumbed to everything too. “Oh,” she pondered, glancing back at the distance, where the warren webs crawl with their vivid vines and intertwining treacheries; it permeated and pervaded with an austere presence, varnishing and cloaking the world with an enigmatic blight. She’s been amidst similar tombs and catacombs, brandishing survival and persistence, tucking venom in her teeth, clenching her jaw and growling at the hollowed sanctions, where monsters lurked, where demons thrived. “I suppose,” she shrugged, staff light and fervent in her hands. Fangorn hissed something at her, and she followed his gaze, pondering if he was trying to tell her to stop, to not be sucked into the foreboding, ominous exploits, or to encourage her, knowing full well that there wasn’t about to be anything that could stop her.
“I could go with you,” the girl offered thereafter, her gaze already back on the labyrinth threshold.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
