MELITA
She narrowed her eyes at the wicked ploys, at the whisper, at the mischief, but played into their hands too, arching her brow, curiosity incited and instigated all over again. “How so?” She did want to see deserts. She did want to see oceans. She wanted the bright, wide world at her beck and call again, chasing down dragon sonnets and roars across stone masses and peaks, turbulent, ocean waves as far as she could see, hunting down rapacious boundaries and floating amongst the brine; but only halted, only seared, only pondered at what cost. Her gaze segmented downward, staring at the holes, at the punctures in the ground, little rivulets of power meant to help, meant to assist, and all the other times they’d done just that – only for it to not matter in the end. Ensuring the blight didn’t reach the Greatwood. Healing the Undine. And then they weren’t allowed again. Delah’s hatred and wrath, and whatever Wessex had been doing. How things and times had changed, and then, seemingly, not at all.
Were her actions important? Did they matter? She shrugged at the comment, a fleeting smile beckoning along her lips before pressing back into the task at hand. “You’ll probably want some water.” But she didn’t have a bucket, and she started fumbling through her pockets and rifling through her back, wondering if she had anything that could contain a little liquid and nourishment for the soil, for the plants.
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
