MELITA
Despite her illness, Melita had managed to conjure and concoct an amount of energetic zest for the upcoming puppet show, donning a fanciful dress, even though no one would be able to see it beyond the curtains. It was like her usual fervor, other than trembling hands, but she accounted that for the excitement and zeal; eyeing the growing crowd, the stage they’d set, the puppets they were to wield and act with. There was no sensation of nervousness, eager and fervent to perform, fingers smoothing out the wrinkles in her fabric and garb, before pinpointing their ringleader. She approached with a quiet air, a hum, a croon, beneath her breath, Fangorn at her side (wanting to enact some portion on his own, which would remain to be seen). The youth tiptoed behind Amalia, a bright smile donned on her face, spread along her features, as if she hadn’t been sick at all – a whisper ignited from her throat. “Ready when you are!” Then she hastened to her spot, saluting. --
Melita would like to play the luxere!
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
