watch her dance, she beckons you
fair warning: leave her to herself
Last year she’d dove beneath the Crimson Cataract’s dominion for gifts, for furtive, secretive things, for tracings of pretense and ichor.
And this time, she danced along the surface.
Her anklet dangles against her skin as she rushed forward, almost like a trance, as if she were nymph instead of human, light and airy, ethereal and grand, across a sea of something other than blood – pressing into the vestiges, the glamor, the opulence. Fangorn remained on the embankment, calm and transfixed by something in the dirt, while she was laden with curiosity and intrigue, inching her way over pools and falls, intending to trace towards the other side, maybe grab something appealing, noteworthy, to grant and give to another. She had no magic, she had no wings, she had naught but herself, pluck, mettle, and daring, and the grit exposed her movements, her motions, along the tempestuous hues and blends.
And this time, she danced along the surface.
Her anklet dangles against her skin as she rushed forward, almost like a trance, as if she were nymph instead of human, light and airy, ethereal and grand, across a sea of something other than blood – pressing into the vestiges, the glamor, the opulence. Fangorn remained on the embankment, calm and transfixed by something in the dirt, while she was laden with curiosity and intrigue, inching her way over pools and falls, intending to trace towards the other side, maybe grab something appealing, noteworthy, to grant and give to another. She had no magic, she had no wings, she had naught but herself, pluck, mettle, and daring, and the grit exposed her movements, her motions, along the tempestuous hues and blends.
beautiful to see, but poison to touch
calm and chaos, evolved and still evolving
MELITA
