to be lit up from within
vein by vein
At his laughter, at his indifferent attitude, she had the inclination to punch him in the throat. It would take little effort on her part; swift and keen, a balled fist clenched in her rage, reaching out on her tempestuous, mercurial eaves and listening to him choke on air for a moment. Would that ensure he listened? Would it mean he took her seriously? Would it matter in the slightest? But then he admitted to not chasing anything; that all of these ridiculous motions seemed to be just that – ether and air, nothing of substance, of tangible wares. She smoldered and fumed along the wake, lips nearly curling into a snarl. “That has to be more than whatever the hell you’re doing now.” Maybe she could toss her staff into his teeth, remove the counterparts of charm and charisma, see where he belonged and arrived when lacking those fundamental figments. The youth shook her head, breathing in a strong inhale of air, pondering if it was too calm herself down, or simply set off more ignition. “And what are you going to do in Torchline?” Irritate and inveigle? Fall into more of his own snares? His trips for Safrin hadn’t been wildly successful either – the news flickering and faltering about her ears. She hadn’t known Adam well, save for helping him with a bow, and Peter not at all. Still, it was death on the fringes and boundaries of his attempts, and surely there was something marring his flesh, his thoughts, on those spirals.
Melita narrowed her eyes as he threw the question back to her; but she’d always had an answer for that. “Power. Strength.” Anything and everything she could get her hands on. “So when something threatens those I cherish again, it will think twice of touching them.” Because she’d be able to defend, be able to destroy, be able to unravel. Be able to withstand, protect, and upheld, unlike the days of the Rift. So she could drive something to annihilation and ruin, instead of the other way around.
to be the sun
MELITA
