MELITA
Melita, in her more solemn moods and endeavors, could be a rapt listener. So while she finished the hooks, tightening loops around her fingers, pulling against them to test their mettle, she settled into the theory. “Hm. That is interesting.” She paused, striving to remember how they’d entangled the banshee. “We sort of, led it to a pit of sticks, a lot of fire, and capable hunters.” Swords and blades crossed, anguishing bellows over the forefront of earplugs, none of them succumbing to a crushing fate. Quanil’s attempt would take multitudes of teamwork and cooperation, which might not have been something the Grounders had in spades (based on prior experiences). Her stare went back to their ministrations, nodding, trying not to wince, at the Fiat Lux devastation. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it all the same.” To have such a wholesome event, something to follow after the oblivion of LongNight, thus corrupted and polluted by the semblance of death and mayhem, warped one of the few occasions they had left that was whimsical and diverting. She grabbed hold of her antlers, her gun, and wandered to the wall. “Where would you like to put it?” Her hand not occupied by the memorial pieces pointed towards vacancies, in between other nestled heartaches and remembrances.
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
