MELITA
Melita had no misgivings towards the luxere either; the lithe little deer had never done her wrong, and she always had a particular fondness for the beings who tried to keep monsters at bay during LongNight. Her hands quickly went to pet and scratch the top of the companion’s head, while Fangorn hissed out his own salutations. Meanwhile though, she considered Loren’s obnoxiousness, if she wanted to feed into it, if she wanted to raise further petulance because it was what they did – truces gone after games were completed, rendered moot, pointless, in the wake of senseless tragedies thereafter. Her eyes did trail after what his arms meant to encompass – the desolation scrawled behind minimal towns and cities that dared to rise from the stark outliers and the press of frigid, glacial vestiges. There wasn’t splendor, but perhaps it had no right to encompass opulence or grandeur, not when they all struggled to survive. And maybe that was why the familiarity struck her so deeply; it was much like the Rift, with its decaying strands and threatening abyss. “I like it,” another shrug. It wasn’t the warmth of the Dragon’s Throat. It wasn’t even the compassion of the Hollowed Grounds, but it had its own appeal – as if she enjoyed walking along the serrated edges of a knife.
As for his new cabinet position and importance around here, she really didn’t care. An almost indifferent monotone flickered through her, eyes on the luxere, and not him. “Congratulations. Must be doing wonders for your ego.”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
