Melita
yes, yes, I am wild
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
I am the wind that makes breathing hard
Her victory, though silly and ridiculous, was shortlived in this instance. If only because he wasn’t actually dead – which she hadn’t believed he was anyway, please – as his hands reached for her leg. With a loud, raucous round of laughter, she sprung backwards, at least alleviating the pressure of her foot, hands centering back over her dagger again, pinpointing it solely towards him with a Cheshire grin. His hands hadn’t entangled, hadn’t wrapped, hadn’t brushed over anything but a sudden kick towards his ribs – likely missing, but tempting all the same.
“All right, all right,” and she handwaved the debacle away. “That’s probably been enough for today. You need to be bandaged up,” and her weapon pointed at the flow of blood along his hand. “And I want cake.”
“All right, all right,” and she handwaved the debacle away. “That’s probably been enough for today. You need to be bandaged up,” and her weapon pointed at the flow of blood along his hand. “And I want cake.”
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
