Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
The evening sprawled, the late hours stinging at her eyes as the light presiding from her candles offered the only respite she’d receive during those twilight doldrums. Her pencil glided across paper after paper, plans (as if her impulsive nature allowed, permitted it), stemming from the notion that the semblances of upcoming trials and tribulations would go anywhere but awry. More than once she’d ripped up portions into shreds, started anew, fresh, and the wick burned down low, the wax building along its sanction. Long, wild locks were braided and plaited over her shoulder, a fortitude of some control, some manifestation, in the potential upheaval and ruin coming to her – the consternation never quite receding, no matter how many alternatives she presented into the dark.
Fangorn rumbled at her ankles, and she sighed, thinking to call it, to cease and desist for now. To start again when her brain was fresh, when her mind wasn’t so overrun, when everything wasn’t such a mess – it’d be there to greet her in the morning.
And so she thought about crawling into bed, away from her desk, when the stairs creaked. Her eyes instantly went to the window, to the potential hour, certain that it was quite late. Would either of her uncles have been out and about? Possibly. Could it be something else nefarious? Another stretch of her hazy mind contemplated the efforts, the notions, and something roared in her.
She grabbed a dagger, familiar in her hand, and the candle in the other, sliding, gingerly, carefully, quietly, towards her door, swinging the aperture open swiftly –
To behold Sunjata, covered in blood.
Her jaw clenched, and the perils, the hazards, the feasibility of a hundred things spurned and spun in her mind. “What happened?” Was a feral hiss, a whisper in the midst of dark and crimson, raising the lithe, little embers to better seek him out in the hall.
Fangorn rumbled at her ankles, and she sighed, thinking to call it, to cease and desist for now. To start again when her brain was fresh, when her mind wasn’t so overrun, when everything wasn’t such a mess – it’d be there to greet her in the morning.
And so she thought about crawling into bed, away from her desk, when the stairs creaked. Her eyes instantly went to the window, to the potential hour, certain that it was quite late. Would either of her uncles have been out and about? Possibly. Could it be something else nefarious? Another stretch of her hazy mind contemplated the efforts, the notions, and something roared in her.
She grabbed a dagger, familiar in her hand, and the candle in the other, sliding, gingerly, carefully, quietly, towards her door, swinging the aperture open swiftly –
To behold Sunjata, covered in blood.
Her jaw clenched, and the perils, the hazards, the feasibility of a hundred things spurned and spun in her mind. “What happened?” Was a feral hiss, a whisper in the midst of dark and crimson, raising the lithe, little embers to better seek him out in the hall.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
