MELITA
The fight was in her – glorious and triumphant – and she gave no thought to the material of monsters, the hows and whys, only the destruction and mayhem, clustered together in the mercurial sprigs and dastardly temptations of her heart. Roana’s appearance briefly muffled the notions, sending her head twisting in the direction of her trainer, a small smile lighting the corners of her mouth. “It’s fine!” She promised and assured, and it was, she hadn’t felt any particular aching sensations for some time now; though it might’ve been by sheer, damned luck, because the girl hadn’t done anything different, dancing, leaping, launching as she’d always committed, even more ridiculous amidst the latest festival.But then her attention slid back to Ronin and the apparent mission: she was rapt and reverent, listening closely, a banshee sliding along the tips of her thoughts and diving into her mind. They were the stuff of legends, as most demons and fiends were, a wailing fixture often heralding some impending doom and damnation, sometimes nestled amidst fairies and fey, screeching, crying, foretelling. If there was one out and about now – was it a warning? Or something they were going to turn a blind eye too? She pondered, wrinkling her nose at the connotations, at the eerie slide of what could be presumed, of what could be afforded, of what could be nothing at all.
As for positions, she wasn’t going to be the one loudly proclaiming to be an attacker; because while bold and audacious, Melita knew very well that she wasn’t the top fighter here. She’d train, grow stronger, more efficient, precise and calculated, but she wasn’t near the caliber in these fine moments. “I can be on defense,” she uttered, a quieter proclamation, but grin still there, readily apparent for the world, for danger to stoke and for fire to burn in her soul.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
