MELITA
It gets better, she wanted to say, wanted to offer, in those broken-down, bone-weary moments, when the only thing one felt like conquering was damnation and serenity. It might’ve been a lie too – or the girl had simply become numb to the conditions and contradictions of danger, thriving on it instead of running away or shaking at its core. She’d seen it, become a part of it, drummed its reverberations straight into her savage, nefarious heart. That wasn’t a place Phoebe was meant to crawl or live within – bright and sunny, kind and thoughtful, eager to lend a hand or soothe an ailment. “You were fine and plenty brave,” she smiled, and only because she was feral and wild, did she proffer a hand, to lead her away from treachery, shadows, and darkness now, the beast who’d watch all of their backs. Melita had always wanted to be the savior, but not at the cost of so many lives, all etched and sketched into her scars, sliding down her spine, adrift in her lungs, on the pulse and beat of her blood. They were within her now, every lost dream, every wronged soul, aching to be heard and cherished. The youth would commit to the same actions, day in and day out, stronger, mightier, until someone said otherwise (death, perhaps). “Let’s go home?” It was a question, but also a tug, a pull, a lure, back to sanctuaries and sanctums, leading back into the light instead of the infernal, uncanny darkness.See I've come to burn your kingdom down
