Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
The world might’ve wished Melita had ice in her veins, but the youth was pure fire – impulsive, combustive, easily incited, stoked, and kindled with so very few words or phrases. Her jaw tightened, and a long exhale filtered through her mouth, something like a blaze beginning to curl and coil. “It’s been two fucking years,” she hissed, because some part of her held that gods damned wound for that long, and she’d just been patching it over with restlessness, violence, and pretending that it was fine that the only family she had left was the one standing before her. Ones that barely spoke and existed and had once been close until it all ended up falling apart again and again.
What was he even going to say? How the man had died? How battles were waged and fought and won and he’d seen none of it in his little refuge? How she’d been so fucking proud of herself for ensuring Torchline was safe while Nate probably bombarded his way through mountains and none of it scarcely mattered? “Just say it,” before her hands found something else besides a glass.
What was he even going to say? How the man had died? How battles were waged and fought and won and he’d seen none of it in his little refuge? How she’d been so fucking proud of herself for ensuring Torchline was safe while Nate probably bombarded his way through mountains and none of it scarcely mattered? “Just say it,” before her hands found something else besides a glass.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
