some lives read like poetry, others like cacophany

WESSEX

The familiar sound of Fangorn bouncing at Melita’s heels is a welcome break to the silence of the stacks. The Wraith pauses, not quite sure where she’s going. “Here?” she asks Melita, pointing to one side of shelves, an area close to her, “Or - ?” she looks to the other side, brow a bit furrowed as her eyes dart over what seems like a maze of possibilities. Honestly, this section isn’t familiar to her - she’s never done much research on magic before.

The girl’s question reaches her ears and she knows she must answer truthfully and yet, is almost loathe to do it given the muddiness of their relationship at the moment. Trying to keep her tone casual, she drops a bomb like it’s the most natural thing in the world to say, like its no big deal, like they could talk about it over tea and scones. Which, they could. “Because I think I’m the newest one.” She wonders if Melita can see her eyes in the dark, the way they dart towards her, trying to decipher every twitch and blink and potential minuscule reaction.

No, I’ll be the stone
I’ll be the hunter, a tower that casts the shade
I lie awake and watch it all