some lives read like poetry, others like cacophany

MELITA

No – Melita’s goodwill wasn’t unlimited. It came with its faults and flaws too, the more she learned about others here, the more she experienced, the more sagacity and wisdom something managed to puncture into her audacious little mind. She would allow Kiada to drown, to burn into a crisp, to fall victim to any onslaught simply out of rage, vengeance, and what she believed to be cold-hearted justice. Loren wasn’t her favorite. There might’ve been scores of others; but it didn’t really matter. She’d strived. She’d tried. And sometimes that was all they could ever do. Sometimes she wished she were more, capable of chiseling safety and sanctum in the circle of her weapons, in the sanctity of her bow, in the twist and turn of boldness.

The inquiry about the blight made her chin rise again, but her expression cast off into shadow, into the folds of darkness, not raising her lantern. Her eyes didn’t see, didn’t catch on anything in particular. It was a mulish thing to do, but so were other actions the girl had taken as of late, uncertain how to respond, how to reply, when she understood and knew the truth. Rexanna had told her as much. Wessex had told her as much. She often didn’t want to adhere to it, continued miring, spiraling, back into the convoluted mess of dangerous things she’d become – uncertain whether to cherish and nourish the rapacious, ravenous edges, or steer clear of them. “I can still be mad at myself.” For succumbing, for falling victim to it in the first place, for being weak and careless and stupid.

Fangorn curled against her again and the youth shifted, ready to dash, ready to flee, ready to be evade, tired and drawn, taut and rigid, fighting onslaught after onslaught in her bones. She would have done the blight differently. Would it have mattered? Would the end results still have been the same? “Pushed back against who?” The question came untethered, flew from her mouth without preamble or prelude, impulsive, impetuous, gilded eyes finally sliding back over to the Wraith.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts