to be lit up from within
vein by vein
“That’s a shame,” she retorted, settling into the sands, sitting, a face of immature, irreverent humor postured over her semblance, chin in her hands while she studied and scrutinized. Why on earth have such massive horns then? For show (and technically, since it was Sunjata, that would likely make more sense)? “Do you get to choose what you become? Or does it just happen one day?” As someone who didn’t have any of these abilities crawling, pooling in her veins (nothing but rage, nothing but vengeance, nothing but the way she blistered and tore), the curiosity remained instigated, chiseled, eternally bound in the back of her mind. She did perk up at the notion of the whale. “Yes, but I’m sure the actual shift is much better,” she grinned, wrinkling her nose. The girl had briefly seen whales in their glass threshold, pressing faces to veneers and surfaces, attempting to peer closer, closer, closer, to the massive animals.
The opportunity vanished though, on more forlorn particles: the dangerous, treacherous, and disastrous aspect of the latest quest: four deaths, and still rewarded for his efforts. What exactly did that mean anyway – that their lives weren’t worth it, that Safrin didn’t care, or that heralds, deities, continually moved on, the world never ceasing its turn? She said nothing; not certain what to offer, gilded gaze lifting to witness as he became a bat, as he flew around her head; the smile gone and vanished, replaced with some sort of consternation and sigh.
to be the sun
MELITA
