Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
Forcing herself to relax, enjoy, be serene, seemed mildly disastrous, given the complexity of her actions lately. “I can try,” she murmured, pondering it all over as she munched on the remains of the potato, curling her hands around her knees. “I like climbing trees. And swimming.” And being generally obnoxious. “Training too.” Being mighty and strong and brave and ridiculous. “Those things count.” So maybe she was already doing better than she thought.
Head turning, though her sharp, gilded eyes still went to the fire, checking and scoping out if everything else had cooled, she breathed a little, easing some sigh of relief. “What do you like to do for breaks?”
Head turning, though her sharp, gilded eyes still went to the fire, checking and scoping out if everything else had cooled, she breathed a little, easing some sigh of relief. “What do you like to do for breaks?”
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
