MELITA
She winced a little as the punch connected. “Sorry,” she offered, grimacing as she fixed some of the offerings on the altar, then sighed, not seeing any of the flowers nearby. “Oh, well, like not on purpose. It’s part of my wild magic.” Much like the ducks, the glitter, the sometimes random bouts of applause, lightning strikes and water cannons. But then something else caught her attention, and Sila rose along to one of the branches, dragon eyes peering out over the sanction of Ludo’s Woods. Fangorn bristled, and then she could hear it – whispers, not unlike her mother’s, her sister’s, connected with little beacons of light nearby. If she weren’t so used to the creatures within the Greatwood, she might’ve been lured. Instead, her jaw clenched almost mulishly, sighing and rolling her eyes. “Don’t listen to them.” A hint to not be enticed or persuades, tempted or beguiled by the cretins. She tilted her gaze upwards, glancing back at him, striving to keep his attention on anything but the shitty snares. “Want to look elsewhere?”
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
