but there's chaos brewing
underneath my skin
Once they reached the edges of the roads, of the canals, of everything else but the flood and flicker of darkness and lantern lights, her steps increased. Her strides were swift, sure, and certain – that they needed to get back inside, that they needed to return, that she didn’t need to hear anymore. She’d managed to conform into a tight ball of anger by the time she lowered Fangorn to the ground, opened the door, and permitted them all back into the safe, secure confines of the house.
Melita shrugged off his thank you, pausing to glare at the floor, placing her staff back into its hold on her belt. If she weren’t so immersed in the tactical ranges of her fury, she might’ve winced or avoided the question. “Enough,” she sighed, trudging along, dragging her feet, following Fangorn as he found his way into the living room too. But instead of sitting down, she yielded only to the doorframe, leaning against it, shoulders touching the rim, while her gilded gaze found his. “I don’t know what you want to do about the gossip.”
Melita shrugged off his thank you, pausing to glare at the floor, placing her staff back into its hold on her belt. If she weren’t so immersed in the tactical ranges of her fury, she might’ve winced or avoided the question. “Enough,” she sighed, trudging along, dragging her feet, following Fangorn as he found his way into the living room too. But instead of sitting down, she yielded only to the doorframe, leaning against it, shoulders touching the rim, while her gilded gaze found his. “I don’t know what you want to do about the gossip.”
trying to hold in the storm
instead of making waves
MELITA
