MELITA
The calm before the storm, nodding in acceptance of their next contortion of roles. She grabbed hold of a stool, easier reaching points to access the remaining hooks, intending to hang the antlers and gun beside one another.And then there was a flurry of motion, of movement, of shattering glass, quick, chaotic inveigling that she had no time to formulate anything but a gasp –
As fangs dug into her neck, and she hissed as they slid across skin and into her veins, a sharp, infuriating pain. Fangorn’s abrupt panic echoed throughout their bond, recognizing the attempts and assaults for what they were, chasing after the remaining gourd as it slid behind the counter.
Quanil was helpful in aiding her attempts as her hands went instantly to the gourd, a string of curses uttered under her breath. “Fok jou” growled and roared from her mouth, while Quanil reached and pulled, while she did the same. “Baster,” howled, never directed at anyone but the gourd attached to her nape, attempting to become more than sustenance and fodder for the rising tide of their assembled anger.
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
