Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
She waited for the response – out of the norm, given her wake of impulsivities. Her head tilted though, gilded eyes going from the brightly hued stones in the pool (which she often took liberty of too, snatching them into pockets and bags for any variety of reasons) and back to Darkeye. It wasn’t the notion of snagging at the rocks, but the semblances behind it that had her slightly mystified. “Sad place? What do you mean?” Was it a way to honor the Grounds? She’d known that to be a burdened, melancholic world, given everything it had seen and been trapped within.
But he made his way over, and she continued to sit, drumming her fingers on the boulder, and then swinging her legs aimlessly. “We’re good. And no dragon egg yet. I have to cook some meat and then I should be good to go.” Dragging Bart out to the Lava Pits would be a challenge in and of itself, but she’d manage. She always did. “What about you?”
But he made his way over, and she continued to sit, drumming her fingers on the boulder, and then swinging her legs aimlessly. “We’re good. And no dragon egg yet. I have to cook some meat and then I should be good to go.” Dragging Bart out to the Lava Pits would be a challenge in and of itself, but she’d manage. She always did. “What about you?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
