Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Why wouldn’t there be howling out in the endless abyss?
Customary things – terrible, horrible, twisted definitions of the world had become habitual. It wasn’t to say that it didn’t bother her, that it didn’t pulse in her blood, that it didn’t make her snag Fangorn tighter in her grip, shoulder the weapons within her bag or along her back.
But it also made her wonder if they could help. Was it too altruistic, even now, when the lands ached for disaster and ruin? To strive and try?
She didn’t know, but the honeybee had always gone steadily against the grain.
Her eyes searched the perimeter of the swamp, spying Seren nearby – and then her uncles along the boundaries too. Uncertain and unsure, she proceeded, then waited, adrift, eyes narrowed and speculating, waiting for something else to shudder and shatter through.
Customary things – terrible, horrible, twisted definitions of the world had become habitual. It wasn’t to say that it didn’t bother her, that it didn’t pulse in her blood, that it didn’t make her snag Fangorn tighter in her grip, shoulder the weapons within her bag or along her back.
But it also made her wonder if they could help. Was it too altruistic, even now, when the lands ached for disaster and ruin? To strive and try?
She didn’t know, but the honeybee had always gone steadily against the grain.
Her eyes searched the perimeter of the swamp, spying Seren nearby – and then her uncles along the boundaries too. Uncertain and unsure, she proceeded, then waited, adrift, eyes narrowed and speculating, waiting for something else to shudder and shatter through.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
