you must burn brighter than ever
Togetherness; wholesome and bright, pockets of moments like the sprigs before them, not so entirely lost in the dramatics, in the theatrics, in the madness of the world. Even if there wasn’t much to salvage from Aurelia’s world, she still had something, precious and collected, remembered for its granted grins. The girl’s hands went around her knees again, spiraling along the thickets of clover and patchworks of petals, as she thought, as she poised, softer now, in days not taken apart by shadow and sacrifices. “What kind of pies?” Warm laughter followed, as if they could re-imagine them by sense alone – knowing it was silly, and still wishing, wanting, to indulge in semblances of things that once brought them tranquility.
“I have quite a few,” she murmured; grateful for those juvenile tendencies to roam and roam and roam and not have a care – the wind in their hair, the songs in their hearts, the illustrious wake of things long since undone. An age of innocence, before they even knew what that was. “My sister, Clementine, my best friend Iskra, and I used to run down to the ocean. In the sea, the Moon Goddess had constructed a glass chamber, and you could ramble through as it went into the waves, and see all of the animals inside.” The smile remained, chiseled there along her mouth and cheeks, a sigh filtering through, placing her chin on the top of her knees. “We would press our faces against the glass and Iskra would tell us the names of all of them, one by one.”
And then the memories faded in light of other nuances, and she snorted, handwaving away Aurelia’s statement. “I’m already cool.” A bit brazen, a bit haughty, shaking her head as if to make it a personal point, listening to the crown shake. But there was the herald of giggles summoned once more as the other smuggler proclaimed some sentiment of a challenge; and the youth said nothing; the grin simply becoming far more Cheshire.
“I have quite a few,” she murmured; grateful for those juvenile tendencies to roam and roam and roam and not have a care – the wind in their hair, the songs in their hearts, the illustrious wake of things long since undone. An age of innocence, before they even knew what that was. “My sister, Clementine, my best friend Iskra, and I used to run down to the ocean. In the sea, the Moon Goddess had constructed a glass chamber, and you could ramble through as it went into the waves, and see all of the animals inside.” The smile remained, chiseled there along her mouth and cheeks, a sigh filtering through, placing her chin on the top of her knees. “We would press our faces against the glass and Iskra would tell us the names of all of them, one by one.”
And then the memories faded in light of other nuances, and she snorted, handwaving away Aurelia’s statement. “I’m already cool.” A bit brazen, a bit haughty, shaking her head as if to make it a personal point, listening to the crown shake. But there was the herald of giggles summoned once more as the other smuggler proclaimed some sentiment of a challenge; and the youth said nothing; the grin simply becoming far more Cheshire.
Melita
