to be lit up from within
vein by vein
No blacksmith tendencies then, not something she’d missed along the way. She shrugged in response too, a lifetime of haphazard movements and motions, treading water, light and airy, partly ethereal, partly savage. “Well, lucky you.” Then she laughed, tempted to dive down, to rid herself of the restlessness coiled along her limbs. What would it be like, to be able to make her own weapons, besides some very simple bow from boughs, from branches, from shambles? Or rocks, honed and thrown from slingshots, from the ground? Then she wouldn’t be so dependent on others. A hum under her breath, rambling notions segmenting through her brain. “Anything else you want to do?"to be the sun
MELITA
