MELITA
After some more pressing of sticks, threading them together with the woven string, winding and knotting, the antlers looked fine enough – better than the gun attempts. She shrugged at it, putting it aside to grab more string, making loops to hook them along the wall, amongst the rest of the orchestrated things. The insinuation about the guild caused her to look up again too, pondering her experiences. “I only got to go on the banshee one. So, things like that?” What constituted who or what was a demon, a fiend, were deeper insinuations she didn’t dare answer, not after she’d been one during the blight. The notions of Torchline were a more suitable exchange, and her smile lifted once more. “Yes! It’s lovely!” She wasn’t sure who Miss Alita was – but the girl would forever be exuberant, exhilarated, and content with the spread of the ocean, closer and closer to fringes of home she’d never have again.
But fitting in was another sticky topic, for both of them apparently – especially when one had been born here, and had yet to find something worthwhile. She shrugged at that too, the uncertainty a gnawing in the back of her mind. What if she didn’t measure up to this pending adventure either? “Maybe you just keep trying new things until something seems to stick.” There were enough of her bombastic, emboldened ilk.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
