MELITA
For once, something she wished came true. The fiery arrow went wide, not hitting him at all, and she hid her sigh of relief in the chambers of her chest – watching, waiting, to see what he does next.At the very least, the onlookers seemed to enjoy the show. The crowd was roaring, the duplicity segmenting and sizzling, and she had to fight away the grin yearning to eclipse her face. Remi played his part perfectly, even bothering to grab ahold of a child in the crowd! The honeybee raised a palm over her features to smother the laugh, the mischevious grin, because she knew he didn’t mean it, that it was more pretenses, more clamors, more goliath intonations against her.
“Unhand him, you fiend!” She roared in defiance, the very look of a Amazonian heroine, with her bared teeth and taut bowstrings, reciting lines from some ridiculous, tragic play, all the world a stage. Melita tried to dive behind a cluster of rocks and trees as the barbs rippled from Remi, aimed for her, hoping she’d managed to miss their stinging nettles (she remembered their power against the pumpkin king; didn’t yearn to be lacerated in their grace).
When she thought she’d found a good spot, she notched another arrow, breathing along its embers, its coals, its ashes, and let it fly again – perhaps, if she was truly lucky, it’d be the same as the previous one, and cause no damage whatsoever.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
