but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
The wild, reckless abandon in her swing likely shouldn’t have signified anything – except it had, in a cut that meant his body had been harmed, her gaze watching the fluid blend into skin. The notion they’d likely gone far enough began to take shape in her mind, wooden swords meant for practice and skill, rather than brutalizing, and she likely would’ve said as much had he not continued.
But – they couldn’t feel pain. Machine-like, in that way, incapable of those telling warning signs to back off. Her brow furrowed, caught in between what she’d like to do.
No time mattered thereafter, for he returned the gestures with blocking, with his free hand reaching for her even as the other was useless beneath her strike, her arm slapped upon, going off-course, slinking through the air instead of anywhere near him. It was just as well, perhaps, a calling sign to be done for the day (even if she didn’t want to, even if there were so many other unrelenting, avaricious, grating, rapacious things she yearned to try). But there would be subsequent instances for those intervals, for those lines in the sand to be crossed. So her eyes glanced back to the dripping fluid, to lifelines scattered in the wind, to burdens neither needed to share in these hours. “Time for a break,” placing her sword edge’s down in the dirt, no other movement made to attack or defend, the ferocious smile wound along her mouth. “How’d I do?”
But – they couldn’t feel pain. Machine-like, in that way, incapable of those telling warning signs to back off. Her brow furrowed, caught in between what she’d like to do.
No time mattered thereafter, for he returned the gestures with blocking, with his free hand reaching for her even as the other was useless beneath her strike, her arm slapped upon, going off-course, slinking through the air instead of anywhere near him. It was just as well, perhaps, a calling sign to be done for the day (even if she didn’t want to, even if there were so many other unrelenting, avaricious, grating, rapacious things she yearned to try). But there would be subsequent instances for those intervals, for those lines in the sand to be crossed. So her eyes glanced back to the dripping fluid, to lifelines scattered in the wind, to burdens neither needed to share in these hours. “Time for a break,” placing her sword edge’s down in the dirt, no other movement made to attack or defend, the ferocious smile wound along her mouth. “How’d I do?”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
