MELITA
She lived and she lived and she lived because surviving was at the basis of her mind, the forefront of all her ambitions, the thing she strived for deep in the dark alleys, in the sinking fathoms of life’s cruelties. So she wasn’t surprised when they managed to remain breathing, whole, alive, and well, some more traumatized than the others, lingering within the labyrinth as the last cracks chiseled into skulls, as the last jaws broke and predators waned. The honeybee youth didn’t shake, didn’t tremble, didn’t shudder; long ago, she would’ve, eyes widened and frightened by the piercing shades of the abyss, of the void, and its monsters laden in between. Now she only lowered her staff so her muscles could rest, allowed it to hit the warren’s ground, alongside the shattered dogs and their worthless endeavors. She took it in, breathed, allowed the pulse of her blood to slow, dampen, no longer a need for the fury, for the ferocity, that had incensed and curled in her heart, in her movements; motions ready should another threat appear and loom. Over and done with, another day she would’ve spent in the Rift, running from demons and infidels, spiraling back when they’d come to a dead end.Her eyes caught Phoebe recovering, falling down, down, down to the maze’s floor, admiration spread from her gaze to Melita’s own; the girl arched her brow and didn’t quite understand the weight of the reverence – she would’ve done the same, over and over and over again, to ensure someone’s safety. The Rift had sculpted it into her being, safety, sanctuary, and sanctum, not through assuaging, soothing tones, but blades and merciless barbarity. “You’re welcome,” she beamed back, instituting a little curtsy, a flickering bow, before leaning her arms on her staff, folding them over the top of the wooden weapon, gazing back into the midnight junctures, the winding vines, the foreboding wounds. “You survived. How do you feel now?”
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
