to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Despite others’ whining about the cold and chill, and being a desert-born creature herself, Melita didn’t mind the glacial expanse. It held its own kind of particular, overbearing beauty, and she could relate it back to the sands that didn’t hold their heat in the dead of night, to the way realms could crush and destroy without so much as a whim. So she bundled up with extra layers, found a pair of suitable gloves, and set about escorting Bright and cheery would never be how’d she describe the world – but there it was, nestled and curled in its garland, torch-fire wake. Otherwise, the melancholy void seemed to brush over the void, and she wondered if there would ever be a time where Outlanders like herself regarded it with some semblance of excitement – because so readily it hurt and marred and reminded of what they lost. Maybe, when she was older, wiser (would that ever happen?).
A sigh trickled through and the Torchline pair found an area to hang their adornments – she cast Eloise’s shelled lantern, her mother and Clem’s lanterns on their hooks, before gesturing back towards Aurelia, for once quiet, whispering, hushed in the juxtaposition of solemn and vividness. “And now we wait. But you can always go talk and mull about if you want.” Her eyes flickered over to the stalls, to the way her heart didn’t feel quite as heavy as years past.
to be the sun
MELITA
