MELITA
“Now you get it,” she postured in return, though it was distracted, her nails digging and ripping apart the seams. Starting over, straightening out the seams as best she could, the sudden painstaking ache for her mother, for her sister, welled up again, and she smothered it downward, into the walls of fire and blood in her chest. The image of Jack stitching a dress, then wearing it, brightened her mood considerably, enough to stifle a threatening lashing of laughter, half-hidden in the snort behind her hand. “C’mon. Think of all the attention you’d get.”
Head-tilting vaguely, she looked up from the mess she’d created, brows furrowing slightly at the mention of travels. It’d been a long while since they’d taken the Ark out – and rather than dwell in self-inflicted misery or piss poor humor, settled into curiosity again. “Oh? Where to?”
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
