watch her dance, she beckons you
fair warning: leave her to herself
Fangorn took the appreciative greetings with his own, allowing more hissing and grumbling to echo forth from a twist and turn of his gaping mouth; had the Atheneum been filled with more inhabitants they might’ve received several stern warnings based on back and forth vocalizations. Melita muffled the slightest laugh, shaking her head at the gourd’s antics, picking him up so he could have closer access as she shuffled forward.
His smile was disarming in its brightness, so she dropped the slow, proceeding ventures and unfurled into her own radiant form, smile growing broader, sunshine radiance even after every other calamity invoked and stuck into her ribs. Slipping forward meant she could glance at the art too, careful inspection and introspection. “Wow, these are wonderful!” And she meant it too, impressed by the nature of his drawings, sketches, and outlines – though not an expert artist by any means. At his offer though, she placed Fangorn on the table, and grabbed a chair to slide over, any amount or ounce of shyness gone, vanquished, whittled away. “Of course! What do you need me to do?” Her eyes scanned over the portions of the legend he’d already detailed, fingers closing over contortions of charcoal, ready, willing, and able. She’d make no mention of this to Bastien, for the Ascended would likely drag her to the Artist’s Sanctuary again (and darn, she’d already forgotten to pick up her own work).
His smile was disarming in its brightness, so she dropped the slow, proceeding ventures and unfurled into her own radiant form, smile growing broader, sunshine radiance even after every other calamity invoked and stuck into her ribs. Slipping forward meant she could glance at the art too, careful inspection and introspection. “Wow, these are wonderful!” And she meant it too, impressed by the nature of his drawings, sketches, and outlines – though not an expert artist by any means. At his offer though, she placed Fangorn on the table, and grabbed a chair to slide over, any amount or ounce of shyness gone, vanquished, whittled away. “Of course! What do you need me to do?” Her eyes scanned over the portions of the legend he’d already detailed, fingers closing over contortions of charcoal, ready, willing, and able. She’d make no mention of this to Bastien, for the Ascended would likely drag her to the Artist’s Sanctuary again (and darn, she’d already forgotten to pick up her own work).
beautiful to see, but poison to touch
calm and chaos, evolved and still evolving
MELITA
