MELITA
Small measures of something other than torture and cruelty; sometimes it was like a fleeting turn of wings and feathers, plumes and breezes, just enough to sate one’s appetite for more, then taken in the next instant, the next season. She’d grasped and clenched and held, but always thought it was her greed that took things away. Perhaps her dominion simply hadn’t amounted, and she needed to express her avaricious tendencies. Perhaps her defiance, her sedition, her rebellion, should’ve flared again, a conflagration in the frustrations of things she couldn’t control, worlds she couldn’t unravel.She rose from her sitting position, putting weapons back in place, Fangorn chirping, rumbling, and growling his compliance. As much as she’d eternally trade sorry stories, she had other things to prepare for. The waiting for us someday gave her pause; almost an insinuation, a note, to ask Ludo at a later juncture. She’d hung lanterns for Clementine, for her mother, for all the other spirits and ghosts haunting her mind, but never asked the herald if their souls were somewhere. If they were happy. If they were together. Her eyes fell to the ground, and then with one massive, heaved breath, as if restoring all her dominance, all her supremacy, over her own being, she lifted her gilded stare back to Weaver. “Hopefully,” she answered – because she didn’t have anything else. A shrug, an endeavor to return to the annals of perusal and wonder. “Thank you for training with me today. Let me know if you ever want to do it again!” Then she waved, a beacon of exuberance, of renewed strength, across the training grounds and out into the sweltering sun.
{FIN}
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
