Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
It was probably best that Darkeye repeated the instructions and directions, and granted examples, because she was an instant flurry of impetuous movement. She repeated the modicums in her head: white charcoal over stones, wait until it turns blue. Following through on those endeavors, she dropped the ivory bits along the rocks, striving to ensure they were even, hesitant to sit still again, but understanding it was a necessity.
Her eyes did go to his next actions though, alternating her gaze from the embers and to the sudden influx of bananas and potatoes. “Oh,” and the honeybee blinked rapidly, puzzled and perplexed, but amused nonetheless. “I’ve never seen anyone use them like that before.” It made sense though, she supposed.
Her eyes did go to his next actions though, alternating her gaze from the embers and to the sudden influx of bananas and potatoes. “Oh,” and the honeybee blinked rapidly, puzzled and perplexed, but amused nonetheless. “I’ve never seen anyone use them like that before.” It made sense though, she supposed.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
