MELITA
Sometimes the girl wondered if she saw ghosts.Fragments, portions, quandaries of a different time, of a different place, of a different world, mixed together in shambles and splinters, as if her mind was still striving to process the things left behind. There were days when she picked her head up too quickly and thought there were flashes of sun-streaked hair or lightning bolts; horizons flickering together on denizens of sand and dust and earth. Sometimes she thought she heard her mother’s sweet lullabies, her gentle tunes, her humming songs as she dried herbs, as she kept them together, safe and warm. Sometimes she thought she heard the whimsical songs of her sister, bright, spring-laden laughter, like blossoms, like honey, like greater, better parts of herself, compassionate airs she wished she had, dutiful, beatific dreams she yearned to crave.
When her head lifted at the sound of a voice, one she hadn’t heard in so long, she believed it was happening again.
Her jaw dropped on a sharp intake of air, a fleeting nuance of yesteryears pouring through her, moss completely forgotten in her hands, pilfering its way to the snowy, sodden ground. She blinked rapidly, must’ve looked ridiculous and stupefied, struggling to piece together if this was real and tangible, or some portion of the blight again, come to sear and sneer, take her away to darker thresholds, beckoning her back to the Stygian wiles, to the taunted abyss.
“Cera?” Her inquiry was on a feral whisper, neither tragic or reviled, but something more awe-inspired, struggling not to be jubilant in case it was all a mirage, in case it was all a cruel joke. She’d been little the last time she’d seen him, illustrious and shining, the Golden Prince of the draconic lands, one of those distant paragons citizens were sometimes deigned to touch, to stare upon, to revere. But she remembered, she remembered, portions of the Dragon’s Throat that still burned in her core, in her heart, in her lungs, in her body, in her soul, and yes, even if he was a haunting, wavering thing, she’d take his company for an instant, for a lifetime. “It’s Melita,” she murmured, daring to tread no further; maybe she was mistaken, maybe she was foolish, maybe she was wrong. Fangorn nudged at her knee, completely perplexed, but steady, a stalwart guard as they gazed into the known and void all at once.
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
