Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins
It broke her heart over and over again, and she didn’t know how to stitch anything back together, not without fire and embers and incited oblivion. That had always been her way to solve things – bullheaded and stubborn, enough mettle to work the fibers of her determination into everyone else’s motivations, spurring and spurning along until something gave. But there didn’t seem to be anything granting a reprieve here, and her ribs ached when he seemed to completely fall apart. All she could do was offer her strength, her vigilance, the might scored and scorched between her fingertips. “You don’t have to be sorry. I know.” She knew what it was like to be out of control, to be blighted, uncertain of who you were (and not caring, incapable of control, digging straight into all the senses she’d thought she’d left behind).
Closer and closer still, if she could just get him to the portal. If she could just get them home to Torchline. If she could just –
“Do you want to hear a story?” How many had she told lately? To Amun, to Sunjata? It seemed to work at calming them down, and perhaps she could orchestrate a soothing, assuaging balm, instead of one composed into danger – enough to distract, to deter, from every other ache and pain he’d been mired and rooted within.
Closer and closer still, if she could just get him to the portal. If she could just get them home to Torchline. If she could just –
“Do you want to hear a story?” How many had she told lately? To Amun, to Sunjata? It seemed to work at calming them down, and perhaps she could orchestrate a soothing, assuaging balm, instead of one composed into danger – enough to distract, to deter, from every other ache and pain he’d been mired and rooted within.
Melita
