MELITA
“I never had a shield,” and here she laughed; silly and tempestuous, but the sad, honest truth. She’d been her sister’s protection and guard, amongst a host of many others, all striving to survive until the next day, the next hour, the next moment. She’d had her guts, determination, and makeshift possessions – the heavy edge of a thrown rock, the notched, keen blade of a whittled branch, the possessive mind to ensnare or trap before the sliding claws raked their way down her back. She’d had no way to conquer ghosts or specters, they’d marauded their way into her heart so quickly, so effortlessly, that her wails had done so very little; luck and resolution had been her saving graces when the horrors pressed too close. “Portals could be useful.” They’d gotten her into the Rift but also out, she shrugged, swung her staff against a rotten log they passed. “Invisibility could be even better – your opponents could be incapable of seeing you strike or defend.” She hummed a merry tune under her breath, pondered over the dispositions and potential. “My fights were always won by willpower and luck.” If they’d been won at all; did one consider it a conquest if the end goal had only been survival? Her eyes scanned the vines and darkness, the encroaching shadows spinning in her senses, forcing her to pay attention and credence to the overlapping views and worlds. “I suppose it matters with your intentions. How do you want to guard yourself or others?”As she turned back to Phoebe though, the ends of her grin turned sharp and malicious; gaze narrowed as a threat poised itself behind them. She could appreciate the nuance and effect – the intentions behind those who traversed on quiet treads and hushed, avaricious squalls. “Get ready,” the youth whispered, swinging her staff in place, Fangorn hissing at her ankles.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
