played it so nonchalant

MELITA

She’d seen death too many times to be truly afraid of it; had watched it return and resurrect, had swallowed down the outcries as those who had perished had been enraged at their sudden renewal. She simply had no intention of joining the leagues of catacombs and tombs, of ghostly walks and wraith entanglements. At least Phoebe seemed to understand that portion of her, incapable of giving in to the notion of scythes and reapers, not bowing her head to the inevitability of time – choosing her hours and minutes, like she had an option at all. “It’s okay,” Melita waved and pulsed; she’d already survived this bout of it. Trembling digits and lack of sleep, tendencies to become enraged were fine – she could endure that much.

Medicine certainly wasn’t her forte, though her mother had tried, pointing out herbs and their uses while the youth chased butterflies and swore to slay any monsters who’d threaten her sister. She mimicked Phoebe’s motions, head tilting slightly too, a reflection of confusion and thought patterns rolling. “I haven’t. Do you need something there?”

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight