MELITA
Melita knew exactly what he meant by family traits: not her mother’s blood, gentle and compassionate, not her sister’s inherent generosity or mellifluous grace. She’d been stung by her father’s inclusion, favoring predilections and cinders, ashes and embers, turning to insolence, vengeance, and flames, twisting her armaments before her as threats unhinged and unfurled. You can’t destroy me she would’ve howled into the void – even though it’d taken almost everything else of hers – too feral, too wild, too savage, too determined.Because for all her warmth and tenderness, she still would’ve liked to burn cities down.
“I only react that way to those who deserve it.” An imperial, joking air came over on her face, a lift of her chin in rudimentary defiance, a mocking gesture that she was holier-than-thou, when it’d never be the case. She simply wouldn’t let the world take over her; seditious and irreverent to the embittered end.
Gods and deities shifted topics though, and she found herself staring at her water, while immersing some faction of thoughts. “What would they have control over? Do they take portions the heralds don’t have to?” Or the Big Gods? “What do we need them for?” A shrug for each inquiry in return; because she didn’t know. Could only muse, could only speculate, could only wonder.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
