MELITA
Leaping and bounding, pulled and enticed, along the intermingling of lights and souls, Melita drew towards the crowd already formed, the dolls already placed. She didn’t balk, nor look, towards those floating amongst the mist and midst of beckoning vestiges and ethers – instead, focusing her attention on presiding along the bonfire, touching upon the elements that raised her. She turned the little artifact she’d made over in her hand, studied, scrutinized the inner workings of its details – of the bright, illustrious cloak, the seashell mask, the way it embodied lightness, merriment, instead of rampant death. Then she followed through on others’ motions, allowing the doll to linger and stay with its brethren, as she waved to those she recognized and knew, before proceeding into the crowd.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
