[PQ] From the Ashes, part 1

I am my mother's child, I'll love you till my breathing stops
I'll love you till you call the cops on me

Fangorn enjoyed his snacks with relish, snacking upon them with his sharpened fangs and sending legs in all directions, apparently neither bothered or worried about venom, poison, or any other noxious toxins. Perhaps he was immune? Melita wasn’t certain, and in the complexities of those machinations, she didn’t notice the spiders crawling along her until the bites pinched and snagged at her skin. Her arms flailed and her hands maneuvered to the places chomped; to her dismay, they were almost immediately itchy and swollen, reddened and malicious. She was obvious in her scratching, nails raking over the marks and wounds to find some relief in the obnoxious, irritating burden, her lips raised in a hackle, as though she were an exasperated predator. “Is there anything I can do for these?” Her eyes flickered to the crowd, to all her compatriots, noting none of them tearing into their skin. Rotten luck. But there was more coming: no sooner had her gaze shifted from one individual to the other, than the sound of rubble and ruin toppling down rumbled over the sanction. She coughed as the dust billowed and shifted into the surroundings, lifting the collar of her dress over her mouth so she could breathe without inhaling the haze; but alarm chiseled its way down her throat and along her ribcage too. Had anyone been caught in the turmoil? The youth listened, for more than just the hacking intervals of decay – and then came the screams. So attuned with the outcries for help (how many times had she ran headlong into danger for them: her family, her friends?), that despite her wounds and marks, she held no hesitation. Fangorn came along too, shuffling along the floor and striving to sniff, seek out those caught and trapped in the latest onslaught. A portion of her simply thought about digging them out, shifting the piles of rock until they were free: but the creaking and groaning was a foreboding sign. Could she start from the top and work her way down? Would her weight make it worse? She furrowed her brows, and went for it – traveling and traversing carefully, swiftly, up to the top of the makeshift pile. “Hang on!” She echoed and bounded, taking one rock and tossing it to the floor in a swift movement, ignoring the barrage of pain skimming over her hands and arms. If they all worked together, perhaps it could be achieved faster? Maybe someone had a different, alternative plan? She was unrelenting in her pursuit, persistent to a fault, but would listen if there was a better option. M e l i t a But in our darkest hours, I stumbled on a secret power I'll find a way to be without you, babe