but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Accustomed to stances from her work with the staff, there were only a few margins of error comprised and composed. It made sense – the weapons were different, lengths not quite the same, though she cherished its comfort in the presence of extended arms, serrated edges in reality, not blunt, wooden contortions. She maneuvered and corrected as he went along adjusting, her elbow rising, her back foot brushing over the ground to where it was required; a pupil of munitions, grounding her essence into the earth, ready to take on the world. The youth nodded at his next insinuation, braced and fervent.
Her eyes followed his movements, tracking them, then segmented them together herself, the sword still poised in her hands. Front foot first, then the back, lined and accorded, until she thought she could do it without glancing at his, corresponding to a pattern, a network, intending to line them up with muscle memory, as she’d done with the staff.
Her eyes followed his movements, tracking them, then segmented them together herself, the sword still poised in her hands. Front foot first, then the back, lined and accorded, until she thought she could do it without glancing at his, corresponding to a pattern, a network, intending to line them up with muscle memory, as she’d done with the staff.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
