to be lit up from within
vein by vein
The youth accepted the pile of growing feathers, imagining them lining a nice pillow. Humming under her breath, hands busy plucking, memories only stirred from the amusement angles of the world they’d been set within. The first question drew her eyes towards cliffs nearby, or any other landmarks, attempting to signify the magnitude of the pumpkin they’d fought. “Probably about as big as those rocks?” She pointed to a few jutting high along the coast, broad and sturdy, towering and monolithic compared to the gourds’ offspring, Fangorn included.“Hm. What would you ask about if you did?” Melita had never much questioned Ludo’s tactics, even after the whole blight and Ascended debacle. It was a difficult line to cross, but for a girl always maligned somewhere along justice or revenge, she’d understood the herald’s notions. At his final inquiry, she smiled; brief flickers of the lovely Fae rekindled, before sacrificial alms. She lifted her arm, indicated the string around her wrist. “My bow bracelet!” He’d likely seen the aforementioned weapon in action many times before, but not how it was rendered. She dropped feathers and half-plucked Hels for a moment, mimicking a gesture of drawing the taut strings of her favored munition in her arms, and the bow appeared out of the vestiges and ether.
to be the sun
MELITA
