Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
She should’ve known better – but her level of audacity and belligerence had weighed far more heavily over her morals, and the note of scolding rendered from Vai stopped her in her tracks. Her head bowed, and her cheeks colored an obvious red; some of it in anger (for herself, most likely, rendered abhorrence for the necessary target), and some of it embedded in obvious shame. The impulsive, impetuous act had earned her a measure of something like a slap to the face, and it pooled deep down in her gut – a long time since she’d had to bleed into the sentiment.
So in silence, in the dark, she asked the potter for supplies, to try again, to instill rudimentary, likely horrific efforts, contorting and recreating until dawn reached. The lightning rod would’ve been taken apart, each piece by piece, carving straight through her sorrows, through her humiliation, through the way she’d acted and displayed. If there were tears and sobs, she’d done her best for them not to echo in the hollowed frames of the house, wiping them with the back of her hand.
Eventually, there would be a dragon, fanged and ruthless, in its place.
And when she arrived the following morning, obviously exhausted, she couldn’t meet Vai’s eyes. She couldn’t do anything but silently tend to the tasks at hand, wishing she’d been early enough to grab the plants, be able to pulverize them into soil. Instead, she took up a broom, simple, where she likely couldn’t ruin everything.
--
Melita falls apart into Great Shame, and redoes the mosaic in the middle of the night to a dragon.
Then takes up sweeping!
So in silence, in the dark, she asked the potter for supplies, to try again, to instill rudimentary, likely horrific efforts, contorting and recreating until dawn reached. The lightning rod would’ve been taken apart, each piece by piece, carving straight through her sorrows, through her humiliation, through the way she’d acted and displayed. If there were tears and sobs, she’d done her best for them not to echo in the hollowed frames of the house, wiping them with the back of her hand.
Eventually, there would be a dragon, fanged and ruthless, in its place.
And when she arrived the following morning, obviously exhausted, she couldn’t meet Vai’s eyes. She couldn’t do anything but silently tend to the tasks at hand, wishing she’d been early enough to grab the plants, be able to pulverize them into soil. Instead, she took up a broom, simple, where she likely couldn’t ruin everything.
--
Melita falls apart into Great Shame, and redoes the mosaic in the middle of the night to a dragon.
Then takes up sweeping!
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
