hold my hand

lily from what i’ve tasted of desire i hold with those who favor fire She grins, too, and laughs in agreement, the first part of which is genuine delight until it trickles into something a little more sad. “She should have. But in my world, women don’t have a lot of power. You’re lucky if you have a kind father and a good husband.” There’s a bit of a break in her voice, enough to signal a quick shift in emotions. “Many don’t. So to be a Queen and have even a little bit of power…” Well, she found power in her own way. But it came at a price. But Lily can understand why Scheherezade persevered, even if the Sultan was a murderous royal dick: even a smidgen of agency, an iota of influence, a way to make life better for others or keep her fellow women from dying at yet another man’s hands - would that not be worth fighting for? Anyway, enough sad, classic tales of patriarchal woe. Melita’s story takes them to the other side, and as they turn to head back, the entertainer finds herself so engrossed in the tale of murder that follow the route without a single thought to what lies below. She’s always been the kind of person who does ‘voices’ for stories, so Melita’s errie whisper is a hook, line, and sinker. She bites her lower lip at the pause, taking a moment to think about the story - but the other girl had given no clues as to who might be the culprit, nothing other than mystery and intrigue. She exhales loudly, in mock exasperation. “Go on!”