to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Sometimes Melita wished they didn’t need the gods at all – but that had been due to Kisamoa, his reign of chaos upon the rest of Helovia, false paragons drenching the world with oaths and convictions never meant to come true. It would be an ignorant, foolish thing to wander into a herald’s midst without some forethought plotting out why they were there, bending before a shrine, praying for knowledge, wisdom, or guidance. Melita had strived not to waste anyone’s time; especially not one of a higher power. She tapped on her chin, pondering, her feet bouncing against one another as she leaned back, away from the pool. “She likes pretty things. And to be told she’s beautiful.” Appeals to vanity, essentially. The girl winked, remembering her own events and circumstances. “If you go to Ludo, it likes games.” Trinkets, dolls, something to play with and enjoy. The honeybee youth had never asked why.As for the Voice – the youth let out a sigh. “I’ve known several Ascended very well. Don’t let your regard towards the Voice put them all in the same light.” But the goddess’s actions had been ridiculous. “Just be careful and cautious.” The opposite of Melita, if she was being honest. But Arialla would find her own way, as they so often did, through either trial, tribulation, success, and triumph.
to be the sun
MELITA
