MELITA
She knew what it meant to lose control – the blight had seared and simmered along her bones, scorched her very soul, inveigled the webs of her mind into reeling bits and pieces of feral, savage intricacies. There’d been no doubt to the pit and pendulums of her wild, savage nature, just anointed, consecrated, and dipped into more Stygian pursuits and nefarious qualities, her conscience erased, her presence ignited. But he had, for all her ruminations and sentiments, composure and capabilities of being calm – and he’d still chosen to denounce her efforts in such a swindling, deceptive way. Why? Because he couldn’t stand to be beaten? Because there’d been too much hunger in the ferocity? She’d been touched by a damned disease that caused her to lose all inhibitions, and still wouldn’t have thought, wouldn’t have dared, to conduct herself in such a way. Training instilled credences. Training invited faith. He’d lost all of hers the moment he’d told that golem to strike her down. “Then maybe you should figure out how to control yourself.” Her eyes remained narrowed, “Before you keep getting people hurt.” The youth could understand if she’d deserved it; never had any reservations between her and Kiada’s “training”. But here, where he’d asked, where he’d invited, what the hell had been the point? It stung like betrayal, hanging there like a knife, telling her he was not a man to place convictions or credence in; which was a shame, given his abilities.
Melita rose then, the scowl still on her face, the staff still in her hand. For a second, she thought about cracking it over his thick skull, but tightened her fist over it instead; jaw still clenched. She scooped up Fangorn, who’d taken it upon himself to snarl and sneer at Loren, settling him in her arms while she stared the mage down. “Training should be built upon trust. Not tricks. Not deceptions. The only thing I learned today was not to put my faith in you.” She didn’t say she’d accept his apology. She didn’t say anything more at all; just left the weight of it there – in the brutality of the final moments, before ghosting back into the wood, away, away, away from the ridiculous mess they’d somehow concocted.
See I've come to burn your kingdom down
