Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
What could’ve been a far more dazzling and dizzying display of juggling antics soon went awry – one slip of his vines in a less than measured stance, and the rock went flying, rather pathetically, into the pool. There was a vague sense of befuddlement along the pumpkin’s face, before obvious disappointment – eyes downcast and body, for little there was, visibly sullen.
Melita made no mention about her other uncle also being a demigod, and how she inexplicably had only become a little shit, but that was besides the point. Tal seemed like he had to figure his own messes out too, though her brow furrowed at the name randomly mentioned – missing it from her catalog of memories. Perhaps it’d been because of her adventures in Torchline, rather than the cold mountains. “Why? What’d he do?” For Melita had always been for punching smug people. Or kicking them directly in the balls.
Glancing sideways though, something caught in the corner of her eye and her gilded stare narrowed for a moment – figures moving in her periphery, a domicile with something entangled and captured within. It could’ve been the fog, the mystical semblance of Frey’s Breath rolling along her senses. Trying to make sense of the notion proved all the more difficult though, for there were no houses in the Climb.
Melita made no mention about her other uncle also being a demigod, and how she inexplicably had only become a little shit, but that was besides the point. Tal seemed like he had to figure his own messes out too, though her brow furrowed at the name randomly mentioned – missing it from her catalog of memories. Perhaps it’d been because of her adventures in Torchline, rather than the cold mountains. “Why? What’d he do?” For Melita had always been for punching smug people. Or kicking them directly in the balls.
Glancing sideways though, something caught in the corner of her eye and her gilded stare narrowed for a moment – figures moving in her periphery, a domicile with something entangled and captured within. It could’ve been the fog, the mystical semblance of Frey’s Breath rolling along her senses. Trying to make sense of the notion proved all the more difficult though, for there were no houses in the Climb.
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
