MELITA
Ordinarily the tones might have jumped her or sent her to her weapons, but she was already in such a grumbling state that she only fixed the captain a look of disdain. “It’s a dress. Obviously.” Except the state of it was a misshapen sack of haphazard sleeves and bloodstains, but somebody, somewhere, would get the gist. Sighing, she bent forward over the garment again, already beginning to remove a line of stitching that hadn’t even been remotely straight. “I’m not very good at this,” she mumbled, perhaps one of the few admittances of her many flaws. But if he wanted to intentionally rile and piss her off, she had more than enough ammunition to unfurl in return. While she hastened a wave towards the cat, and Fangorn and Sila did much the same with their own acknowledgements (vampire gourd grins and a shy dragon hiding behind the youth’s shoulder), a sigh reeled through, pondering on wrinkling her nose and forging onward with her usual impulse, or to let it slowly build. “It needs to be handmade for the ball thing.” Then, because some rankling needed to happen, her eyes glanced back over her work and pinpointed on him. “You going?”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
