MELITA
She nodded, accepting of the fact of their parties, glad that if she had absolutely no inclination towards it, she could merely leave. No force. No singular choice. A portion of her felt grateful; because there might’ve been other worlds, other contortions, that held no such offering, and she swallowed down the apprehension, loosening the breath she’d been holding, steadying her hand on the brush. The wings curled along the surface, and then, feeling bold, she made them broader, some red like flames, like the cliffs, and some black, like obsidian and coal, Stygian oblivion across the sands – power, precision, might.Her eyes lifted back to the artist as he asked about the tapestry, and she tilted her head, considering it – if the brushstrokes even truly embodied the land and all it’s worth. “I was born there.” And for once, when discussing the land, her voice wasn’t full of sorrow, but of radiance, able to at least convey it’s distinction, it’s prowess, it’s everything, with what little talent she had to offer. Her smile bloomed and blossomed, as she conjured red sand along the oasis shoreline, as she pressed vitality into a world that wouldn’t ever see it again. “It was wonderful, powerful, and ferocious.” Her gaze went back to the tapestry, pondering how else to convey the scene, how else to regard it, full of light instead of shadow. “But it’s gone now.”
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
