[Training] no one told you to breathe

MELITA

Melita was no stranger to vengeance, to justice, to revenge. It bit, tore, and snapped along her veins, viper intentions in her blood, seditious spread of irreverence and revolution brewing, brimming, simmering just below the surface. Too much fire, too many experiences where the world cracked, frayed, and nothing happened but derision and catastrophe. Her grin matched his then, a little marked in conspiracy, in devil-may-care platitudes, eyes roaming over the boxing ring and its assortments, thoughts instantly churning to those like Kiada, like Loren (tentative truces, perhaps), to everything else notched in the fortitudes of her unrest. "I agree."

Bargaining with deities drew her smile away; she’d long since forgotten what she’d given and granted to Ludo (a memory; something that no longer haunted amidst the calamity of plenty others). It reminded her too much of Kisamoa, sickly sweet promises dyed in lies, coaxing kingdoms, other cosmic beings, to his resurrection, to his eventual desecration and devastation of the sovereigns they’d loved, the people they’d cherished. “No thanks,” she grumbled.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts