Scint River
08-12-2017, 11:40 PM
They were called and called and called again, a whisper, a throng, a thunderous decibel bleeding into their sights, into their souls, and they came once more. Melita was torn between wanting to just to see what was bound to happen next, and yearning to ignore his commands simply to rebel. Chaos reigned so gloriously, so quickly, so efficiently that it made her chest hurt, her mind spiral, her essence bleed over and away from anything that used to be precious, gentle, and tender – all she thought now were ferocious, angry, seditious things, etching and sketching her way into the molten abyss. She and Sila, tucked into her folded wings, followed the beckoning down towards a river, because curiosity won, because revolution could start here, because Clementine or her mother could appear, and she needed them safe. Her family and her friends, were everything – especially when they had nothing else.
She clung to the creatures she knew best – those of the Throat, the sands she yearned for (hot and sunkissed, not billowing torrents of haunting, poignant, eerie strains). Her skin still felt coiled, a strange humming continuing to drone from within (and she attempted to ignore it; but it was unsettling, ridiculous), while she swiveled towards Zero, Vulkan, and Iskra, unaware of any black honey dripping from her birdcatcher spots. She only caught the bits and pieces of their conversation, flicking her ears back and forth while her eyes watched the chaotic God brandishing his wares – incredibly uncertain of what was to become of them. Even as Iskra noted about defying deities, that was all Melita craved, to simply sow her way into sedition. But how long will we survive? was what she yearned to say – for simply shoving their head down and obliging the beast with everything he desired couldn’t be right either (not when he’d killed, not when he’d maimed). Didn’t Iskra want to fight back the beast who’d slain his own mother? Instead of giving it voice, however, she inhaled a restless breath of air, caught another line to throw into the void. “Maybe there will be a time when we have enough to fight back. We’ll have learned enough, been taught enough, and figured our way around this world,” she offered, she murmured, quiet and steady, because it was all she had. Survival was an overwhelming notion for any being.
She clung to the creatures she knew best – those of the Throat, the sands she yearned for (hot and sunkissed, not billowing torrents of haunting, poignant, eerie strains). Her skin still felt coiled, a strange humming continuing to drone from within (and she attempted to ignore it; but it was unsettling, ridiculous), while she swiveled towards Zero, Vulkan, and Iskra, unaware of any black honey dripping from her birdcatcher spots. She only caught the bits and pieces of their conversation, flicking her ears back and forth while her eyes watched the chaotic God brandishing his wares – incredibly uncertain of what was to become of them. Even as Iskra noted about defying deities, that was all Melita craved, to simply sow her way into sedition. But how long will we survive? was what she yearned to say – for simply shoving their head down and obliging the beast with everything he desired couldn’t be right either (not when he’d killed, not when he’d maimed). Didn’t Iskra want to fight back the beast who’d slain his own mother? Instead of giving it voice, however, she inhaled a restless breath of air, caught another line to throw into the void. “Maybe there will be a time when we have enough to fight back. We’ll have learned enough, been taught enough, and figured our way around this world,” she offered, she murmured, quiet and steady, because it was all she had. Survival was an overwhelming notion for any being.
Melita
let me live that fantasy
@Zèklè @Vulkán @Iskra
