to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
Melita didn’t know what to think.
Her mentor, someone who had trained her, who had taught her to fight far better, far greater, than she ever had, unraveled every nuance of her reigns actions, inaction, and the consequences of them all. Torn between wanting to understand and failing to comprehend entirely, her mind spun while the rest of them offered their sentiments, their ruminations, why they were better, why anything mattered. She hadn’t experienced this before – the reigning of monarchs in Helovia had been orchestrated well before her time, and the Rift had been utterly ridiculous in its false paragons and faulty gods. Zariah had been different, an open forum where nothing they said equated to anything at all.
Melita didn’t know what to do.
Her eyes shot over the crowd, the familiar faces, the crackling foundations fissuring further and further along, the changing of everything all over again. Her heart hammered in her chest, a ricocheting little barb, head maneuvering back and forth with each volleying conversation. Her gaze finally managed to pinpoint back to Sunjata, tugging at his sleeve, feeling foolish and ridiculous, the ignorance and unknown scrambling over her features. Was she even capable of making a decent choice? Things that hinged on power and supremacy? What do you want to do? the question in her eyes, the rest silenced, beneath the roar of the crowd and the nettles gathering on their edges. Then she managed to meander towards the paper, the apprehension still clinging to her, shaking as she wrote.
Her mentor, someone who had trained her, who had taught her to fight far better, far greater, than she ever had, unraveled every nuance of her reigns actions, inaction, and the consequences of them all. Torn between wanting to understand and failing to comprehend entirely, her mind spun while the rest of them offered their sentiments, their ruminations, why they were better, why anything mattered. She hadn’t experienced this before – the reigning of monarchs in Helovia had been orchestrated well before her time, and the Rift had been utterly ridiculous in its false paragons and faulty gods. Zariah had been different, an open forum where nothing they said equated to anything at all.
Melita didn’t know what to do.
Her eyes shot over the crowd, the familiar faces, the crackling foundations fissuring further and further along, the changing of everything all over again. Her heart hammered in her chest, a ricocheting little barb, head maneuvering back and forth with each volleying conversation. Her gaze finally managed to pinpoint back to Sunjata, tugging at his sleeve, feeling foolish and ridiculous, the ignorance and unknown scrambling over her features. Was she even capable of making a decent choice? Things that hinged on power and supremacy? What do you want to do? the question in her eyes, the rest silenced, beneath the roar of the crowd and the nettles gathering on their edges. Then she managed to meander towards the paper, the apprehension still clinging to her, shaking as she wrote.
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
