MELITA
Melita could still feel terror and fear, rummaging around in the pit of her stomach. It was the apprehensive recoil of the world churning over and destroying itself, it was the consternation, the trepidation, of devious exploits falling down around them. It was the sanctum and sanctuary of fire gods and their infernal blessings suddenly whipped away to nothingness, sacrifices made for naught but bare bones and infinite ghosts. But she always overrode it with her audacity, with her boldness, with her spark and zeal, because otherwise she’d drown beneath its waves, strive, kick, and scream towards the surface, and never make it. Fright was instinct, dread was born and solidified into every single creature, no matter how great or small. She pulsed beyond it, fingers tapping against her staff, for she didn’t dare look it in the face again – see her mother, see her sister, see other members of her home-spun family desecrated, decimated, before her eyes. Her heart was brave, uplifting, and strong, and she wouldn’t let her spirits be splintered, fragmented, and severed for the agony and distress of foreboding. She allowed it to curl through her bloodstream, let it simmer, let it boil, let it brew, then smirked inwardly over it – an Amazon puncturing through inherent, innate quandaries and ultimatums. Not today, she’d tell herself, before she jumped off of cliffs, before she launched and leaped through thickets, before she scalded realms and smiled while swinging her weapons, while brandishing her knives, while pressing her vengeance into the ground.
Phoebe managed to gain some courage, and Melita tilted her head back towards her, sunshine and luminescence despite the ominous depths they meandered within. Danger and treachery was like a second home, unwelcome and deplorable, but still a measure of something she knew and understood. She smiled at the other girl’s sudden determination, the factions of gods’ hands leading her into peril, and stepped alongside her, intertwining herself within the warren, tangled vines and sodden leaves, high walls meant to lock them in place.
She breathed, inhaled, exhaled, the overwhelming air and ether of otherworldly possessions. “Why does Frey wish for you to be in danger?” It seemed bizarre to her, a twist, a ruse, she couldn’t quite employ or decipher – especially if
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
