to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Her laughter quieted then, in those slow, residual ways; stomach aching from the mirth and merriment, head tilting up towards the stars, watching the smoke rise to meet them. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” He probably would’ve told them too – no amount of shame or humiliation in the cook. None she’d seen anyway. A shrug of her shoulders rambled and ambled through, eyes flicking over the flames, a tilt of her cranium as she pondered the rest of the marshmallows. “Especially since he was willing to gamble his eye away.” Melita wasn’t certain she’d even be that brazen and impulsive. At the mention of Frey, she snorted, jabbing at one of the last marshmallows, hungry again, and waving it over the inferno, waiting to see it catch, turn a gilded, golden sort of brown. “You have any run-ins with gods?”
to be the sun
MELITA
