MELITA
Picking through the stones, snagging at the ones that glint a different hue, or catch her eye, the girl figured that’d be it. The curiosities would end, extinguish, and the rest would be kept to herself. So she raised her head, albeit briefly, her gaze slipping back to Lily quickly, before dashing back to the rocks. Surprise, maybe, had been shaped and sculpted in the complexity of her gilded gaze – she never really got the opportunity to talk about Clementine. So many others had lost their own, that her twin was just another drop in the bucket of departed souls, of wonderful people never permitted to be by their sides again. The youth quieted, face forming a whole series of emotions, before deciding to move onward, forward, a light smile adorning her features, even as it speculated towards silt and water. “Very sweet, gentle, and kind. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly.” Or a bee, or a blossom, living her life amongst the flowers, the tendrils and tassels of whatever honeyed things life had to offer. Except eventually the latter stopped proffering those moments of grandeur and compassion, ripping it apart, bone by bone, flesh by flesh. “My mother was a healer. I think Clementine memorized every single one of her herbs.” A laugh billowed, rather than a sob, a shake to her head as she grabbed a pinkish hued pebble, pretending to inspect it.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
