MELITA
The wilderness, the savagery, the ferocity, could not be sated, not now, not when there’d been an explosion, an inferno, between her heart and lungs, pulsing and pervading through her ribs. Even if he wanted to fight, to scream, it was much too quiet, much too hushed, much too covered and contorted in the realm of oblivion – a place she refused to visit until it was her time to sink into its threshold and never return. “Then we should.” Let them scream. Let them fight. Let them gnash and rip and tear and collide into something; maybe into the walls of the bar, scaring anyone passing by with the howls of war or maddening, smothering rage – or they could always bound their way towards the Bone Bridge, where the monsters rested below and they could stab and lacerate and destroy in the name of people who’d died and disappeared at their hands. Despite her clenched jaw and fists, the ravenous, scathing, blistering energy surrounding her entity in waves of crimson and ichor, she followed his movements, gathering the timber for shelves, for trinkets, for pictures, for memories that would mean something or naught at all. Pieces and portions for those gone, gone, gone, and now Lusea amongst them all over again. Stupid. This world was so god damned stupid.
Why did any one of them bother finding families and loved ones, when they were only torn away?
At his voice though, at his smile, one of her own curled, much less marred by fury and nefarious qualities, and more of the impish intonations – listening to Lusea’s introduction, to the stitches and seams of broken beings and how they reassembled before crumbling again. “Yes. All of it.”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
