MELITA
She glanced back over her shoulder as he spoke, her comment heard, a sigh tracing its way through her lungs. Did she go out and do things? Frequently – her words and actions dictated her life, commitments and convictions firm in her mind. She couldn’t recall a time she’d gone back on them either, not since the Rift, when no matter how much she’d tried to shield, tried to protect, it hadn’t really mattered. She hadn’t been strong enough to conquer the ferocious forces barreling over all of them. Would Gaal have protected them, had he been there? Would he have even attempted? Or would he simply have left them to fend for themselves, no different than where they’d started and ended? She grimaced slightly, a frown on her features, then her gaze swung back to another rock, a mighty kick ensuring its assault punctured and pierced the stone to arch into the air. “Yes. I try to do things.” The honeybee youth shrugged, as if that might not hold significance either. As for charisma – was that a true virtue, or had Gaal merely used it to size and seize opponents, to ensure someone was always in his grasp? But according to Sunjata, she had his flaming crimson hair too, the freckles, the press of the sun slanting over skin. The youth wasn’t sure if she wanted to resemble him at all, remind anyone or anything about his existence, about how he’d traced over their lives and then disappeared, wanting nothing to do with them. However, that particular portion was out of her control, and perhaps enough of her mother’s beatific grace was alive and well and beating in her chest. Sunjata’s ending comment wasn’t forgotten though, entirely too kind, and the girl allowed the slightest of smiles to cross over her features. “Thank you,” taking it as a compliment, on a light air of laughter, ignoring the resounding trembling in her hands again. “I wonder if he perished with the rest of Helovia,” another murmur, glancing up towards the sky as they meandered further and further down trails and paths. On ethers of curiosity, buoyant and ebullient, traces of her foundational prowess, an inquiry floated, as if on the clouds and the curls of soft wind. “Do you know what happened to your world?”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
