MELITA
Unfortunately, despite the potential for camaraderie in shyness, reserve, and reticence, the corresponding hiss did little to soothe Fangorn’s ruffled features, and the gourd’s eyes widened, very large, gaping, eerie, before turning his entire face to the breadth of Melita’s chest, hiding, as he must’ve so often did. It was how he’d managed to survive so long while the rest of his clan and kin had been butchered, tossed, and played with. Melita leaned down, closer to the boy, a smaller smile appearing on her face. “He likes to be scratched,” she proffered, extending the vampire pumpkin outward, so that Jax might try that instead, one of her fingers pointing to the top of the vegetable’s round crown, a favored spot. Then she was dutiful towards Roana’s instructions, gaze riveting on the way reeds had been woven, connecting, eventually combining to become something other than dried plants, capable of carrying, of snagging, of ensnaring bits of sun. “I see,” she murmured, pondering over the amount of precision required, how long it would take her, how Clementine would’ve been far better at this than she, patient, understanding, not waiting to embark on the next journey and conquest. “How long did it take?”
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
