MELITA
If she were to beg the gods, would they have listened? If she were to ask for her sister’s soul, her mother’s heart, to return into the sanctions, could it even happen? Her thoughts raced while he continued, tilting her head to listen, to study, as they lifted boxes and placed in more shelving, her hands busy and her mind churning. Why hadn’t she contemplated these things before? Had she been too invested in mourning, in melancholy, in surviving, to ever believe those moments or parallels could exist? Or was it a losing venture, and somehow, someway, she’d known before she ever believed in venturing down those routes: their bodies gone, on another earth, on another tide, and the only resurgence and renewal that would ever occur was in her thoughts, in her memories, in the bright, blistering light of the Dragon’s Throat (gone, vanquished, never to return)?Time different, altered, reborn circumstances blending passing years together into naught. Three years with no semblance of warning, as if she’d never left? “That sounds difficult.” And yet, Lusea had appeared to seethe and sear and sink into assimilating constitutions and fortitudes, until the inevitable. “Did she like it here?” A half-hearted smile blooming along the corners of her mouth; as if it mattered, altering courses and lands, as if anyone had a choice.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
