MELITA
The tale continued, and she only came down off her stool and ledges to replenish supplies while she listened, while it spiraled into training, into worlds where people had opportunities to do that without monsters at their backs (or were those the humans, instead, lost and whittled and feral?), shaking her head at the notion of him gaining some other wound. But then there the touches and fringes of unspoken things, curving her smile into something a little melancholy, a little bruised, already knowing the end result – death and death again – as if the fluidity of conflagrations and water, floods and sparks, had no ability to stay together. When they should’ve. When they’d tried. Maybe, if there could’ve been something else beyond these worlds, these lands, these tossed, molten sovereignties. How many chances did some souls get, until everything bled and ran dry? But at the denial, the rejection, the irresolution, she couldn’t quite cloak her giggles. “Of course,” she laughed – no experience in it herself, but from her minor moments in Lusea’s presence, a wall, veil, shield, and curtain of fire embodied the woman, failing to do anything but ignite.help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
