burn the house down

MELITA

While Melita longed and yearned to make connections with those from the same kingdoms, because of time, because of distances, because of things they’d all experienced, she hadn’t considered that some didn’t long for those similar links and associations. Even Kiada, no matter how embittered she was towards the other girl, was a snippet of ruins, of chaos, of destruction, of a familiar rancor she could settle within, gnaw and gnash her teeth upon. But the fact that her adversary’s name held meaning in this language meant something else; that there might’ve been closer ties and tethers, tomes and books and histories melding together, and the notion sent the deepest rankles up her spine. Your father had a cousin who lived among them curled and coiled in her chest, in her ribs. Melita kept the snarls to herself, growling inwardly, because she didn’t cherish any potential relation there; and perhaps, by chance, there was naught, nothing, that embedded or ensconced them any deeper than their mutual contempt and abhorrence. The only sentiment expressing her displeasure was a wrinkling of her nose, a moderate frown, turning her lips downcast as she stared along the water, listening to the translation.

Schematic. Orderly.

As if that described Kiada at all – she withheld the snort threatening to loosen itself from her throat.

But then there were more fiendish inclinations, and as any classic rebel, she dove headfirst, back into the insurrection, listening intently with the rapacious grin settled back upon her fringes. Much like before, she strived, she attempted, to catch the particular phrasing and syllables, repeating them as best she could. “Jy vertel die ou baster! Gat!” A fresh set of giggles and laughter billowed along the river, especially as she thought over the intervals in which she could utilize these wonderful phrases. Easily enraptured by the potential for sedition, for devilry, for antics, she hummed underneath her breath, pondering over any insults she’d like put to another language. Well, there was one individual notable for being a…”What about bitch?”

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts