there's always a glimmer in those
A spring in her grin, a sprig of curlicued reverence in her undaunted factions, the effervescence in her eyes. “It’s wonderful and powerful.” A dream in her gaze, a haunting poignancy of precision and might she’d never have, never contain, but could greatly admire anyway. It was a part of old tales and would eventually hold a threshold in new ones, constant, beatific, a vast, overwhelming accord where she yearned to stretch her limbs and scattered along the wind – nymph ambiguities and picturesque divinity, as if she too could be a merchant of its sails, instead of tied to the land.
Weaponry had been something she could only tangle her hands into once she’d embarked into Caido: sticks and stones were some measure of armaments, but the fine-tuned, honed, and harpooning shards and swords here were far greater, far grander, far deadlier. She’d sunk her teeth into them upon first sight, grasped their crafts, coated their edges with training for precision, for accuracy, for something other than reckless endeavors. They were still there, just as part of her as any other unrelenting, ferocious qualities, but better kept. “What other weapons do you use?” She hummed, relishing the chance, the opportunity, to delve further into whatever means worked best for others, then taking a drink of her water, staring up at the ceiling.
What she didn’t expect to see on her glance back down was Jigano crafting something within his hands. “Oooh, new magic?” sprang from her mouth instantly, and then she returned to silence to watch, to bear witness. A stoneware appeared, and some strange pasty concoction in its boundaries (she probably should’ve known what it was – her mother would be ashamed somewhere in the heavens, glancing down from her healer ramparts).
She also didn’t expect it to be granted to her.
“Oh, thank you!” Her hands went for it, treated the item with reverence. “What’s it called?” Because she was full of bruises and scars, of mauled, mutilated figments; rising from each and every one of them with a sneer, with a growl, or with a seething designation in the back of her mind. Perhaps this would be far better.
Weaponry had been something she could only tangle her hands into once she’d embarked into Caido: sticks and stones were some measure of armaments, but the fine-tuned, honed, and harpooning shards and swords here were far greater, far grander, far deadlier. She’d sunk her teeth into them upon first sight, grasped their crafts, coated their edges with training for precision, for accuracy, for something other than reckless endeavors. They were still there, just as part of her as any other unrelenting, ferocious qualities, but better kept. “What other weapons do you use?” She hummed, relishing the chance, the opportunity, to delve further into whatever means worked best for others, then taking a drink of her water, staring up at the ceiling.
What she didn’t expect to see on her glance back down was Jigano crafting something within his hands. “Oooh, new magic?” sprang from her mouth instantly, and then she returned to silence to watch, to bear witness. A stoneware appeared, and some strange pasty concoction in its boundaries (she probably should’ve known what it was – her mother would be ashamed somewhere in the heavens, glancing down from her healer ramparts).
She also didn’t expect it to be granted to her.
“Oh, thank you!” Her hands went for it, treated the item with reverence. “What’s it called?” Because she was full of bruises and scars, of mauled, mutilated figments; rising from each and every one of them with a sneer, with a growl, or with a seething designation in the back of her mind. Perhaps this would be far better.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
