Malina

Malina is the personification of a thunderstorm. From soothing droplets to wall-shaking crashes, she will make you feel it all. Lightning and all, she electrifies you with her love. But just as you’re beginning to let yourself get used to it, she’ll take it all away, leaving you cursing the sun and yearning for the clouds to come back. She’ll haunt you, leaving you only with echoes of her incessant quoting of Wuthering Heights, ancient classics such as the Iliad and the Odyssey, and random ritualistic hymns. All you’ll ever want is to be dancing with her in her museum of a room, lit by an excessive number of pillared candles, to the drum-like pattering of her icy raindrops that entrance you all over again.

Oh, and, all those villains she loves to go on about? Know that she is all of them, all at once. You can either fear her or love her for this. Tread carefully and trust wisely. She’ll tread over you to bring greatness and glory to herself.

I’m only warning you because even if I can’t be the one, I can at least help make way for you until the day that you come.

Et tu, Malina?

And I pray one prayer—I repeat it till my tongue stiffens—Malina, may you not rest as long as I am living; you said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers, I believe. I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad!

Malina, cara mia, I forgive you.

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