MELITA
The sun goes down, and the spaces between are magical, infinite, orbs of light and boundaries enlightened by the stars, by curls of lion’s mane, the field granted anew by the bonds signified and clarified, for everyone and all to see. Melita came garbed in green, something straight out leaves on boughs and branches, blending into sprite and fey connotations, sprigs of flowers braided into her hair. She’d even managed to wrangle a matching bow on Fangorn’s stem (before he managed to take it off and eat it).She wandered in, waving to those gathered, eyes flickering to the grooms, a bright, indulgent smile meant for congratulations, not wishing to disturb them quite yet – making her rounds amongst the lanterns and tables, recognizing all the faces and figures, save for one holding Rexanna’s hand. Her eyes ghosted there but said nothing; a content smile curling its way through her features, before she took a seat further down, placing Fangorn in her lap.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
