devils hide behind redemption

MELITA

Training, honing her skills into less impetuousness, more precision, had been an unrelenting, but satisfying venture. She had every urge to continue, to keep segmenting her skills into more prowess, more potential, more annihilation, more reasons for the world to glance, to shudder, when she waltzed in its wake. Then no one could doubt her. Then no one could destroy her. Then she wouldn’t be weak, wouldn’t be fumbling, stumbling, or faltering, wouldn’t be anything else but mighty, proud, and stalwart – a bright beacon amidst demons and monsters. Her mother likely wouldn’t have approved, but would’ve said naught about it – quiet, a little forlorn, a little torn. Her sister would’ve applauded her efforts, presided along the sidelines with a smile, a laugh, and a song; gentle and whimsical, everything Melita was not. But the offer, the notion, of the ring and its possibilities, made her youthful heart burst – teeth to sink into its existence.

The thoughts spiraled here and there, while Fangorn clambered after Haai, only to watch the young griffin collapse, flopping, pawing at the vines surrounding the gourd’s existence. He snarled, but only in obvious warning. Melita rolled her eyes.

As for which demons and monsters to hunt – there’d been a list, posted along the parlor, well before the fire swallowed and eclipsed it all. “I helped hunt a banshee. And some others went after ROUs in the Underground. We also stopped a giant vampire gourd from getting into the Greatwood. It was full of the blight.” She paused, pondering over anything else; recalling moments of rare animals not being infidels or cretins at all – like the Undine, like the memory snow. Her answer was quiet and vague, but only because she didn’t know what was out there. “Anything that threatens us, I suppose. That wants to do us harm.”

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