MELITA
Melita’s hands grabbed hold of Aoife in the most tender of amusements, lifting her upwards, listening to the small giggles and radiant laughter. The youth followed his beckoning grin, swinging Aoife around midair, watching tiny fists fly around, then collecting her much like she had always done with Fangorn, hoisting the babe into the crook of her arms, balancing her carefully along folded inclinations and strong grasps. “What a fearsome little thing you are,” she cooed in the child’s soft hair, a resounding echo of words transcribed and fostered upon her as a screaming, tempestuous toddler. She’d been so proud.While her fixation had been on Aoife, she also meandered her attention to Ronin’s slight tour – gazing at the notice board, notes of monsters and mayhem, streaks of demons running amok amidst the clambering storms. She nodded her head, remembering the banshee, the strike of emotions playing against her heart; why, why, why a dangerous inferno, until she saw its measures, its might, its grief for herself. The honeybee girl wasn’t entirely sure what to say after all of that – accepted and tolerated so easily, when other worlds had done their best to shake her to her core, her foundation. “Thank you,” she applied instead, an unearthly, ethereal grin glimmering off of her features.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
