Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
“Are you all right?” wasn’t a whisper, but an overt statement as she watched him tighten, tense, and in turn, she did the same. Nothing animalistic to her except the wilderness, the savagery, bent and built into her from days of only survival and nothing else – hand over her staff in a moment, maneuvering to step aside, or into whatever traipses by. Whatever he’s seen. Her eyes narrowed, and there was a bristling conflagration to her heart, ready to be set alight, aflame, to be a maelstrom in the middle of the office, no longer billowing, no longer pacing; a fire, a storm. "See what?" Perhaps she was only vestiges of questions now, endless inquiries, no answers.
It only echoed on his other statement, her head tilting, a little less dangerous. Only due to the distraction, the ebb and flow of too many cataclysms happening at once, and something had to dull within it. “Determined how?” She had no issue with the Voice ceasing to exist – the only dilemma or problem it would hinder upon was Nate; and both of them within this damned house would defend the man with their lives. So what was going on now?
It only echoed on his other statement, her head tilting, a little less dangerous. Only due to the distraction, the ebb and flow of too many cataclysms happening at once, and something had to dull within it. “Determined how?” She had no issue with the Voice ceasing to exist – the only dilemma or problem it would hinder upon was Nate; and both of them within this damned house would defend the man with their lives. So what was going on now?
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
