Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Nodding in agreement, she pondered over the rest of the complexities too, springing about with ideas when her mind wasn’t cluttered with melancholy. “Oh, and maybe Bastien can have a matching golden paintbrush or something!” The man had always been overly fond of special clothing and styles, or so it seemed to the honeybee. Perhaps that as well.
With purpose unfurled again, the youth sprung back into action, looming along the edges of the embankment. “We need some gold,” she uttered and hummed to Fangorn, who waved his vines around (probably colorblind and incapable of defining which hue was which) in support, at the very least. She circled the heights of the pool once, brows furrowed in concentration, before spying two gilded-looking fragments, though perhaps more orange depending on the right light. Snagging them from the fringes, she ran back in haste, offering them out on her palm for Darkeye to inspect. “Will these do?”
With purpose unfurled again, the youth sprung back into action, looming along the edges of the embankment. “We need some gold,” she uttered and hummed to Fangorn, who waved his vines around (probably colorblind and incapable of defining which hue was which) in support, at the very least. She circled the heights of the pool once, brows furrowed in concentration, before spying two gilded-looking fragments, though perhaps more orange depending on the right light. Snagging them from the fringes, she ran back in haste, offering them out on her palm for Darkeye to inspect. “Will these do?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
