[Se] I need color

Melita

I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles

Listening to Darkeye’s story while she worked caused a slight frown and furrowing of her brow. Mostly for his pain and trauma, or the echoes of things she’d heard before. “That sounds kinda similar to the Voice,” and then her eyes fell again – not telling any of her stories. Her mother, who’d sacrificed herself for her daughters, gone in a flash as the world turned asunder – as gods were ripped apart, as false claims to cosmic beings outstretched their lies and led them through portals. Or of her twin, lost to her soon thereafter. Why she’d become so tough and mighty and belligerent all in the course of a young life. "Sorry for your losses. You could make a lantern for them too."

Her ministrations worked similar to Darkeye’s (since she stopped more than once to watch what he was doing) – eventually utilizing the food too. Even if it felt a little silly.

and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me