MELITA
Another season, another Deepfrost, another reason to mull over the results of her impulsive actions. And while the tension loomed in her chest, while she thought about notions and motions after the facts and figures had already been established, the youth could only barrel onwards. So her focus wasn’t really on the rest of the world, lost in her own head as she turned around corners, as she pressed her feet along the sides of the canals. Sometimes her strides elongated so quickly, so swiftly, that they balanced outwards, over the water, and she had no fear, no apprehension, in those guided proportions. Not with the anklet. Not with a thousand other things flickering and fluttering along her mind, firing off in rounds of cinders and embers. Fangorn grumbled from beside her, a kind of plea, and a likely warning.
Only when the sprite looked down did she see someone else in the canals – a head appearing above the surface – and a startled gasp rendered from her lungs, a jockeying of movement and accord, spinning back to land so she didn’t fall in. “Shit, sorry!”
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
