M E L I T A
The ridiculous moments passed by on a wave of dust and ash, and she was whole again, tangible, real, not held together by thin lace or fraying strands. She laughed, melodic, mellifluous joy in the shadows and gloom, as events transpired before her eyes, as a foe became a friend, as reality finally managed to serpentine its way through the treetops. Suddenly, the blistering heartache didn’t matter, cornered and sectioned off in her mind, settling in to collect coals and embers, while the rest of her giggled in triumph, in glee, in portions where armor wasn’t required, where a soul was revitalized and restored. Perhaps home wasn’t in the glorified moments of war, strife, and anguish, where she screeched against beasts and attempted to terrorize adversaries, but where her companions and kin were, spirits willing to traverse the same distance, the same perils, and come out alive on the other side.
Melita was engulfed in fur, paws, and then simply @Iskra, surrounded on all sides by familiarity and warmth. Her response was bright, merry laughter, incensed by delight, by merriment, by relief, and a clutch of her hands, tightening around his shoulders and neck, fearful of letting him go. It was an ease, a camaraderie, they’d adopted since they were children, supportive and encouraging, bestowing deliverance and sanctuary in the melancholy hours, proffering understanding and benevolence in the quieter ones, when everything fell apart, when the howls were distant echoes, when the misery finally clambered down on their shoulders. “I’m so glad to see you,” the nymph whispered, palms still grasping, as if he might disappear before her eyes, escape back into the fold. She could feel the semblance of tears forming behind her gilded gaze, and she cloaked them away, despite their elated, blessed existence; they curled back in the form of a choking, silly sob from the back of her throat, a refreshed grin, a sigh of repose relinquished from her hold. The girl didn’t ask him a single question – about the others, about how he’d wandered there, about how he’d managed to find this damned abyss, about they had managed to find one another again – simply enjoyed his presence encompassing hers. It was enough.
She leaned into him, forgetting where they were, not bothering to question the boughs’ strength, the canopies’ might. “I don’t know where the hell we are-,” crooned from her lungs in a series of bouts and giggles, but the statement was never quite finished. Her twisting and turning had proven just enough for the tree limb to finally collapse; a crack resounded through her ears, and her head, wild curls and all, swung just in time to see the fragile ends of the wood give way.
