MELITA
It wasn’t the first time Melita had pondered over the Voice’s capabilities, if Clementine, if her mother, if anyone dead and desecrated could suddenly be summoned here, alive and whole, given second, third, fourth chances. Beyond the hows, the whys, she wondered if it was even a fair call to make: remembering how Zekle had asked, had craved, had yearned for those deceased and perished to be reborn. She still had the scars to prove the disaster, the ruins, and the abominations. But hadn’t Lusea come back whole, if only for a short while? The inquiries and questions floated through her mind like a haze, and she fell into silence in their mulling, musing properties, eyes downcast, brow furrowed, until the subject altered, changed.The smile at notions of experimentation seemed genuine enough; stopping time, making note of the name Kai in the back of her mind, animation, sorting out muscle responses, all done without anyone’s awareness (and that too – was something she could either accept or cringe upon). “Oh,” at first, wholly surprised, giving her more time to summon a less generic reply. “What have you discovered so far?” Though she was partially more intrigued by the magical abilities and properties, since she had neither – curiosity eternally compelled in various directions all at once.
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
