but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Melita knew her way around a staff, and though the sword wasn’t completely different, she wasn’t accustomed to its build, to its impact, the same way she might’ve been with more familiar munitions. She could block and she could snarl, but nothing was accustomed to muscle memory. Everything was painstakingly slow in that regard – she had to think, she had to puzzle, she had to segment.
She should’ve seen it coming, after all their practice, but alas, it was not to be. Her initial defense had worked well to a point, and he’d danced away, inevitably springing into another series of motions and movements. The girl sought to brandish it in return, except she was fooled by the feint: intending to rampage and block again along his arc, only to find him coming at her chest. Perhaps only the instinct to guard herself ensured no foreboding bruises, but as she went to bar the impending assault, her arm twisted in a strange, bizarre way, leaving her elbow upwards, uncomfortable, and the rest of her blade pinned against herself.
So she pushed back again – a tried and true method, her full body into the designation.
She should’ve seen it coming, after all their practice, but alas, it was not to be. Her initial defense had worked well to a point, and he’d danced away, inevitably springing into another series of motions and movements. The girl sought to brandish it in return, except she was fooled by the feint: intending to rampage and block again along his arc, only to find him coming at her chest. Perhaps only the instinct to guard herself ensured no foreboding bruises, but as she went to bar the impending assault, her arm twisted in a strange, bizarre way, leaving her elbow upwards, uncomfortable, and the rest of her blade pinned against herself.
So she pushed back again – a tried and true method, her full body into the designation.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
