but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
She hadn’t expected a human, or a merfolk, to be the one snagging at her companion. It could’ve been another beast altogether, something disturbing and hungry, rising from the sea to ensnare and entrap those willing to wander the beach during the long, lingering night. Not a great start to any relations between the people of the ocean and other land-dwellers, but then again, she’d never sought to angle herself down into the waves and steal something of theirs.
There was not a single sympathetic thought or glance towards the man as he barked, struck by her staff, christened with hallucinations due to her aim (and she could recall here and there, the time she’d done the same to Kiada, and the rush of relish, of vehemence, stoking in her blood). If anything kindled across her features, it was a furrowed brow and a rapacious smirk, ravenous, predacious, her turn to leer and inhabit violence.
Melita rushed forward again too, a threat in the raising of her staff once more (no strike coming down this time), as she made to grab hold of the grumbling, irritated Fangorn, plucking him into her hold, safe and secure. The youth managed a one-finger salute, uncertain and uncaring if merfolk understood the meaning, and signified it again with a growl, not bothering to answer his inquiry. “Fuck off.”
And she began to stalk back towards the length of shore, potentially out of reach and clutches of the stranger.
There was not a single sympathetic thought or glance towards the man as he barked, struck by her staff, christened with hallucinations due to her aim (and she could recall here and there, the time she’d done the same to Kiada, and the rush of relish, of vehemence, stoking in her blood). If anything kindled across her features, it was a furrowed brow and a rapacious smirk, ravenous, predacious, her turn to leer and inhabit violence.
Melita rushed forward again too, a threat in the raising of her staff once more (no strike coming down this time), as she made to grab hold of the grumbling, irritated Fangorn, plucking him into her hold, safe and secure. The youth managed a one-finger salute, uncertain and uncaring if merfolk understood the meaning, and signified it again with a growl, not bothering to answer his inquiry. “Fuck off.”
And she began to stalk back towards the length of shore, potentially out of reach and clutches of the stranger.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
