MELITA
Per Bastien’s suggestion, the youth followed his movements, the opening box, the gold leaf tucked in its enclosure. She gasped, eyes wide with the distinction of awe and inspiration – the picturesque ripples and undulations of gilded formations, the perfect arc and triumph of the sun’s touches, fringes, and grace upon the scene. “This is beautiful!” Melita beheld it with equal reverence, light strokes of her brush polishing and caressing into its sanction, before she placed it upon the canvas, watching as it broke apart into its shimmer, into its emboldened features, accenting, spotlighting, on what could’ve been the Sun God’s rays, power, and distinction. It almost made her cry – a hushed little breath notching its way through her mouth, imagining those days stretched out beneath the arcs and swells of the molten world. “Thank you,” she spoke again, a little quieter, as if too enamored and astonished to pour more of her radiance into the sanction; afraid to spoil the glimmer. Then she listened to the notion of gods elsewhere; books of their written words, ignored or faithfully applied, twisted or distorted, but nothing seen, nothing immersed, nothing quite like the ones here, the ones in Helovia, She could understand how the way heralds and deities appeared here would’ve been bewildering and confounding. “I’m sure! What do you think of them here then?” The girl left the bitter, rancorous indentations of his chosen lot out of it - since he was an Ascended, since he’d be partial to the Voice – though Melita had never heard of him being involved in anything quite like Wessex.
While she took up painting once more, her head tilted to the side to study, to ponder, she listened to the way he described his roots, his settling; far different from hers, because she rarely ever had time to pick apart the earth and find room for her in it. The fear laden in it though caused her brows to furrow, another wrinkle of her nose in thought. Bastien had been quite successful here in terms of Rexanna, in his art, and possibly in other aspects he craved in life; but the what if always remained. Maybe it was the same for Melita too – the dread of picking up and maneuvering again, leaving things behind, the carnage, the wreckage, the fallouts. “I’m sure Rexanna would always go with you. Or vice versa?” she added, golden gaze alight and pinpointed on him, the truth and veracity coiled in a mischievous smile.
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
