Melita
they should have checked the ashes
of the women they burned alive
of the women they burned alive
She couldn’t help but treat the moment with suspicion. Her eyes narrowed slightly, another harsh intake of air rambling through her lungs, gearing her up for something thereafter. But the shrug, the way the manifestations gleaned – nothing, nothing at all – for a girl who’d always liked colorful stones and rocks, who’d leant them as gifts to gods and those cherished alike. Perhaps it had been innocent. Perhaps not. Melita didn’t know anymore.
And then promises of old – before death, before decay, before resurrections. She swallowed down a hard line forming in her throat, jaw feathering as her teeth gnashed against one another. She could remember a jutted chin and her seditious presence in between hallways, telling Maea her bow wasn’t going to make it; the ocean had drenched the wood, the salt had damaged, the sea had wounded. Only to do it again, later, later, later – and now the wraith was before her again. “Find a good stick and I can make one.” Pliable, bendable, capable of being strung back enough to notch an arrow upon. Rather than juggle pebbles and pretend to be something she wasn’t.
Melita certainly never had.
And then promises of old – before death, before decay, before resurrections. She swallowed down a hard line forming in her throat, jaw feathering as her teeth gnashed against one another. She could remember a jutted chin and her seditious presence in between hallways, telling Maea her bow wasn’t going to make it; the ocean had drenched the wood, the salt had damaged, the sea had wounded. Only to do it again, later, later, later – and now the wraith was before her again. “Find a good stick and I can make one.” Pliable, bendable, capable of being strung back enough to notch an arrow upon. Rather than juggle pebbles and pretend to be something she wasn’t.
Melita certainly never had.
because it takes a single wild ember
to bring a whole wildfire to life
to bring a whole wildfire to life
