MELITA
Perhaps that was the smallest piece of mind – that for her short ventures here – the woman had enjoyed her opportunity for second chances. It seemed trite, trivial, and minute, petty at the same time, but the youth swallowed down the length of bile she yearned to express, the unfairness, the fact that others managed for far longer and some never seemed to catch a break. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, to reach out and seethe, nothing to change, nothing to alter, nothing to bend – her hands occupied and busy with the shelving, otherwise they might have balled back into fists, angry and vexed at dominions, at binding claws of things they couldn’t snatch or snag. His last comment though – she wasn’t certain how to react. Perhaps it was a tease, a taunt, that either Melita herself was unlikeable, someone would find aversion with her (which, truth be told, had already occurred, but Kiada wasn’t high on her list of giving much of a care), or that Lusea’s standards were high. So she laughed, and it bounded on airy, ethereal timbers, rather than the dull, muted quandaries, locks bouncing along her shoulders as she glanced back over to him. “What is that supposed to mean?” An obvious tease, her grin bold and apparent, brow arching, as if waiting for him to give an answer, treading along dangerous grounds.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
