every time she burns to ashes
Nothing more to be said on Maea, the pale woman with misfortune out on the seas. Her eyes wandered over his features and wondered what went on behind his gaze, if there were other storms and tempests brewing there, lacquered in confusion, or more of reality, of the harshness of the world. Of how much he’d had to overcome, of how much they all seemed quite destined to fall apart.
But not her. No. She’d make sure their seams and strands were tightened, taut, tethered to her strength and mettle; they could have some of her might. They needed it so desperately.
Melita bit back a score and scorch of other nuances behind her teeth, left them in the enamel, listening to the statements he had. She didn’t quite understand them, beyond being struck by lightning and Ludo’s presence, uncertain how the two were tied together. When had Ludo ever employed such abilities?
And then she thought about her own quiver, and what she’d asked it to do for her. About the sparks flowing through the arrows, and she swallowed down the uncertainty, the inquiries, saving it for a day at a shrine, where she’d bow her head to pray for some semblance of luck on this misguided earth. “Maybe it was none of the heralds. Maybe it was something else.” Maybe it was out of their hands. Maybe it was right under their noses. Maybe everything was tired and torn.
I don’t want you to get sick traversed over her mind, and the blight’s potency reared its length, traversing down her spine in quick, swift, blistering memories. “No. I’ve been ill before.” The smile faded for a moment, stare on the table, on the way wood etched and scraped. “We’ll get you better. We’ll find a way.” Gilded gaze swept back up to him, another promise and conviction entangled into the air.
But not her. No. She’d make sure their seams and strands were tightened, taut, tethered to her strength and mettle; they could have some of her might. They needed it so desperately.
Melita bit back a score and scorch of other nuances behind her teeth, left them in the enamel, listening to the statements he had. She didn’t quite understand them, beyond being struck by lightning and Ludo’s presence, uncertain how the two were tied together. When had Ludo ever employed such abilities?
And then she thought about her own quiver, and what she’d asked it to do for her. About the sparks flowing through the arrows, and she swallowed down the uncertainty, the inquiries, saving it for a day at a shrine, where she’d bow her head to pray for some semblance of luck on this misguided earth. “Maybe it was none of the heralds. Maybe it was something else.” Maybe it was out of their hands. Maybe it was right under their noses. Maybe everything was tired and torn.
I don’t want you to get sick traversed over her mind, and the blight’s potency reared its length, traversing down her spine in quick, swift, blistering memories. “No. I’ve been ill before.” The smile faded for a moment, stare on the table, on the way wood etched and scraped. “We’ll get you better. We’ll find a way.” Gilded gaze swept back up to him, another promise and conviction entangled into the air.
she knows how to rise again
Melita
