there's always a glimmer in those
Did vampire gourds laugh? It was hard to tell – something resembling a hiss, a growl, and mirth all rolled into one at the dragon’s antics, and the pumpkin tried desperately hard to follow through on the silliness. On his back, tumbling along in the garden as his vines took or settled him into rooted manifestations. But there weren’t any feet or arms to kick up towards the sky; so the vines would have to do in those measures too – flailing every which way.
The promise of chorus bees, of harmonizing with their hums, of piecing together music and rhapsody, subsided any of the disappointment that might have been aching in her bones. “Perfect,” ended on a grin, vibrant and vivid, wild and effervescent, before she went back to scraping the tool down the edges. It was a satisfying thing to behold, and Melita didn’t hide the pride instilled in her frame, a little taller, a little straighter, as she continued her work. “Okay!” was an obliging thing, not even glancing upwards from her task, concentration (for once), finally honed in.
Back turned, absorbed, and with Fangorn also suitably distracted, the honeybee had no idea or inclination towards Maeve’s dastardly intentions. Humming under her breath, pulling away at proportions, watching the elements flicker and pool under her ministrations, she thought nothing of the sudden bump against her shoulder. Turning her head, presuming Maeve would be behind her – her eyes widened quickly, harshly, as a black shawl surfaced, floating along in mid-air.
She would’ve thought it was her preferred herald, had there been a mask. Instead, she simply screamed, tucked and rolled, and made towards her weaponry on an instinctual lunge.
The promise of chorus bees, of harmonizing with their hums, of piecing together music and rhapsody, subsided any of the disappointment that might have been aching in her bones. “Perfect,” ended on a grin, vibrant and vivid, wild and effervescent, before she went back to scraping the tool down the edges. It was a satisfying thing to behold, and Melita didn’t hide the pride instilled in her frame, a little taller, a little straighter, as she continued her work. “Okay!” was an obliging thing, not even glancing upwards from her task, concentration (for once), finally honed in.
Back turned, absorbed, and with Fangorn also suitably distracted, the honeybee had no idea or inclination towards Maeve’s dastardly intentions. Humming under her breath, pulling away at proportions, watching the elements flicker and pool under her ministrations, she thought nothing of the sudden bump against her shoulder. Turning her head, presuming Maeve would be behind her – her eyes widened quickly, harshly, as a black shawl surfaced, floating along in mid-air.
She would’ve thought it was her preferred herald, had there been a mask. Instead, she simply screamed, tucked and rolled, and made towards her weaponry on an instinctual lunge.
who have been through the dark
MELITA
