Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Nymph and catlike, she stoked the surface of the water with little tension – skimming, ignoring the way the chill stuck to her skin, content with brief moments where there was a lull and the fire in her heart and mind could ensure everything else remained just the same. With some manner of impulsive notions though, she watched him snag at a starfish, brows furrowing slightly because she found its hues enticing, but permitting the poor thing to settle back below the surface thereafter, instead of snagging and grabbing.
And then the winning personality comment had her laughing. “And what would that be?” Charms only got people so far.
The Honeybee rolled her eyes dramatically at all the other insinuations, but permitted them to slide by as she kicked at the veneer of the current. Perhaps some would splash nearby his current stance. “I suppose. I’m Melita.” She tilted her head, a vague motion. “Which god did you pray to?”
And then the winning personality comment had her laughing. “And what would that be?” Charms only got people so far.
The Honeybee rolled her eyes dramatically at all the other insinuations, but permitted them to slide by as she kicked at the veneer of the current. Perhaps some would splash nearby his current stance. “I suppose. I’m Melita.” She tilted her head, a vague motion. “Which god did you pray to?”
I am the ocean and the battered shore
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
I will be the passion of thunder, a howl of fury
