M E L I T A
Maybe there were; Melita believed in it wholeheartedly – this place with its gods, its demons, its tragedies and travesties, was bound to have tranquility amidst the damned. Helovia had its moments of utter treachery, but its beauty was finessed along those woven frames too, beatific and grand, luminescent and boundless, peaks rising along the north, snow-touched and powerful, with the sands and its molten temples in the south, draconic war-cries carrying them home. “I hope so,” she dreamed, rhapsody and harmony filling in the pockets of doubt, curling and coiling over the cracks in her foundation. The past was a treasure she never truly let go of – particles that had solidified her curiosity, her discord, her whimsical, mercurial delights before everything fell apart.
She watched Vai’s smile fade briefly, muffled hers into a slight frown, glanced elsewhere, at boughs that could’ve been snakes, at butterflies coasting their way through the warming glade. The girl hadn’t intended to draw out the painful reminders of Longnight; they were escaping its aftermath now, in those channels and narrowed halls of light after Stygian barbarities and cold, unrelenting forces. “It was a good thing to do,” came the murmur, hushed but defiant all the same; yearning to drag up those heroic deeds above the carnage, the disasters, the horrific screaming from beyond the door. How many had gone unanswered? It was a short interval of thought, a shudder lingering down her spine, for all the howls meant to be tricks, for all the wails meant to be deliverance and safety.
The grin was back though on Melita’s survival statements – and she might’ve glowed at the praise, beaming and radiant, a tiny bit ethereal if seen in the right light (the other contortions could’ve heralded mischief and disaster, too many tempestuous beams). The offer thereafter was the highlight of all, she jumped at the chance, at the opportunity, to savor any information or expertise. “I would love that!” The girl was ravenous for so many things, beyond glory and triumph, beyond power and strength, might and fortitude, thirsty and hungry for sagacity and wisdom, for expertise and precision, when she’d only had the time to brandish and hold a few. “I know some,” but it was met with a shrug, as if it was all worthless in place of Vai’s molded background. She craved more and more, rapacious and hungry for the opportunities to grab and snare, to twist and clench, to have when the moments were right, when things could be more than just futile, when she could do more than run and escape.
