MELITA
Well, perhaps not everyone could appreciate the value and companionship of a vampire gourd. She shrugged at the notion of fluffy; there were plenty other ferocious, fearsome, volatile things to get their hands upon and bond with, and she wasn’t going to relegate herself to merely the cute or seemingly non-lethal (and who knew – sometimes the visually appealing or adorable ones had the deadliest bite). He didn’t seem calm or nonchalant about the monster thing, which was fine, almost expected really, for those who hadn’t experienced anything other than LongNight’s run and the peak of claws over skin. For a child who’d grown and survived amongst sharpened fangs, fiends, and heathens, it was almost a segment of normalcy. To feel one’s heart beat a little too fast. To feel the fibers of fight or flight rush through the skin. To bask in the ambition of slaying or racing across the horizon, aching to live out one more evening. “I’ve never heard of a monster having preferences,” she teased, shrugging again, one finger dabbing and elongating Ludo’s illustrious rags within the mud. “They take what they can get.” What they could maim. What they could tear. Weaknesses they could tap into, explore, and devastate, ravage, ruin.
As for the gods, her eyes drifted back to him, tilting her head to examine. The girl could understand it; she’d come from a world where a false god had run rampant, tricking and deceiving, until death and shadows were the only imminent thing from Kisamoa’s grasp. It’d taken her a long time to even think about venturing towards a shrine, much less obliging a deity her presence, or vice versa. “Sure.” Her finger traced over her initial lines, and then brows furrowed in concentration again. “Which one do you want to meet the most?”
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
