watch her dance, she beckons you
fair warning: leave her to herself
Melita tended to prefer red: fire, embers and cinders, the rush and stoking of rage behind her eyes. It symbolized contortions of her birth, of her home, of her land before damnation: the Dragon’s Throat and its ruby sands, its fixated, warrior emblems and torches. It conveyed the way she approached life, bright, effervescent, or a hot, blistering conflagration, emboldened and audacious, sinking into temper infernos. It was grit and determination, it was mettle and fortitude, it was an unwinding flame, basking in the glory of triumph or smoldering on the edges of failure. It was an omen, a warning, a tenacious sway to movement and sound. It was her embodiment: the chase, the race, the rush of life. Maybe that was why she dove beneath the water and didn’t care she was stained in its hue. Maybe it was lifeblood, a beating, beating, beating echo of ichor and survival.
“Someone special,” she murmured and ricocheted in return, tossing her head again, the crimson locks dripping water down her back, then swinging back and forth. The girl presumed it’d be Phoebe – though after the disastrous episode of the wedding, she really wasn’t sure what or who Sunjata considered special, given the amount of angst, melancholy, and open defiance rampaging around the nuptials. Melita shifted her eyes back to the pearl-colored fixtures, nodding in agreement and accord, grin brightening at their illumination and elemental expanse. “I’d say so!” A pause thereafter, quiet thoughts, fingers plucking at the red lichen she’d hoisted from the deep. “Know anyone who’d like plants?” Her first thought was Jigano, but she’d granted them to him last summer, and she had no idea if he’d require more for anything. Her second notion was Phoebe, but it left a poor taste in her mouth, in her thoughts; some rancorous edge after everything had seemingly fallen apart around them – she as much part of the bluff and stupidity as Sunjata.
“Someone special,” she murmured and ricocheted in return, tossing her head again, the crimson locks dripping water down her back, then swinging back and forth. The girl presumed it’d be Phoebe – though after the disastrous episode of the wedding, she really wasn’t sure what or who Sunjata considered special, given the amount of angst, melancholy, and open defiance rampaging around the nuptials. Melita shifted her eyes back to the pearl-colored fixtures, nodding in agreement and accord, grin brightening at their illumination and elemental expanse. “I’d say so!” A pause thereafter, quiet thoughts, fingers plucking at the red lichen she’d hoisted from the deep. “Know anyone who’d like plants?” Her first thought was Jigano, but she’d granted them to him last summer, and she had no idea if he’d require more for anything. Her second notion was Phoebe, but it left a poor taste in her mouth, in her thoughts; some rancorous edge after everything had seemingly fallen apart around them – she as much part of the bluff and stupidity as Sunjata.
beautiful to see, but poison to touch
calm and chaos, evolved and still evolving
MELITA
