Melita
I never had a chance to be soft
I was always bloody knuckles
I was always bloody knuckles
The temptation to grind the glass, or use any tool that could potentially lead to mischief, was the only motivation she needed. “Oooh, okay!” A jovial sense of exuberance wound its way along her frame, far more than she’d done in previous years when making lanterns; a more somber time, for the most part. But perhaps Bastien and Rexanne would’ve appreciated an outlook not encased in angst and melancholy, not for people who were seldom driven into those states.
Snagging at whatever Darkeye needed and requested, the youth scrambled around for a bit, tending to the tasks, before returning, and noting the older man’s current disposition, offered some water from one of her canteens. “There.” A proud beam of a smile encompassed her features, hands clearly itching for something to do.
Snagging at whatever Darkeye needed and requested, the youth scrambled around for a bit, tending to the tasks, before returning, and noting the older man’s current disposition, offered some water from one of her canteens. “There.” A proud beam of a smile encompassed her features, hands clearly itching for something to do.
and shards of glass
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
I wanted people to be afraid of hurting me
