but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Simmering and seething in her molten, infernal contempt, the youth didn’t expect another fault line erupting. She figured she’d done enough to fend the beast off, and continue on her way; if she saw him again in the future, she’d likely malign him in some other capacity.
But then the deluge curled over her, Fangorn’s warning (a hiss, a growl) far too late for her to do anything other than become soused from the wave. It drenched, cooler than normal, pressing into her skin as she gasped in surprise, the shock of it all sending a shiver down her spine.
However, the girl never quite lingered in that sensation for long.
Her brows furrowed, indifferent to the plight of her clothing, her hair, or the rest of her form. Quickly, swiftly, all over again, Melita placed Fangorn down by her ankles, from where he stood and grumbled towards the stranger in the water. Thereafter, her staff became unnecessary, returning it back to its holster on her belt, and shoving out her forearm, and pretending to draw the string of a bow. The bracelet along her wrist unfurled its weaponry, and she grabbed hold of an electric arrow from her quiver – listening to the snap, the sizzle, watching as its sparks danced in the coils of darkness.
Then she notched the armament, and aimed it straight at the sea, at the shoreline, at the beast lurking in its midst. One, last, singular warning, no words required now.
But then the deluge curled over her, Fangorn’s warning (a hiss, a growl) far too late for her to do anything other than become soused from the wave. It drenched, cooler than normal, pressing into her skin as she gasped in surprise, the shock of it all sending a shiver down her spine.
However, the girl never quite lingered in that sensation for long.
Her brows furrowed, indifferent to the plight of her clothing, her hair, or the rest of her form. Quickly, swiftly, all over again, Melita placed Fangorn down by her ankles, from where he stood and grumbled towards the stranger in the water. Thereafter, her staff became unnecessary, returning it back to its holster on her belt, and shoving out her forearm, and pretending to draw the string of a bow. The bracelet along her wrist unfurled its weaponry, and she grabbed hold of an electric arrow from her quiver – listening to the snap, the sizzle, watching as its sparks danced in the coils of darkness.
Then she notched the armament, and aimed it straight at the sea, at the shoreline, at the beast lurking in its midst. One, last, singular warning, no words required now.
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
