M E L I T A
They slid into easygoing boundaries, and her heart is lighter, fuller, for the benefit of it. The strains were not so terrible, the memories not so rough, when shared without the blunt exposure, without the harsh nuances, without the keen ax grinding down across her shoulders. She laughed at the enigmatic twist of multiple words, because Melita had lived the same, three sanctions, the first one blessed, the second one tyrannical and treacherous, and the third a mix – she wasn’t sure where Caido would reign in her soul when all was said and done. “Maybe we just weren’t meant to soothe others,” and she giggled again; knowing full well she committed damage and terror when necessary, that her words and actions could only assuage so much, that no matter how hard she tried, the end result was always crushing blows and revolutionary ramparts.
But she was an avid listener; she’d sat at her mother’s skirts while the woman told wondrous, beatific tales of beasts and gods, fingers twirling loose strands and her sister calmly sitting beside her. It’d been perfection – and she was grateful for Kiada’s intonations, a release of the past, tilting her head and ensuring she was catching every word she said as she grabbed another vacant pot and filled it with soil. While her hands worked through the soil, swept it back and forth, loosening it up, she imagined kings and queens again; except…the kingdoms sounded so familiar that she ceased all movement, froze. Aurora Basin and The World’s Edge had made their way into her mothers’ myths, but Melita had never been able to venture into those pockets and corners of the bright, beautiful sovereignty; everything collapsed and fell apart well before her curiosity and limbs could have taken her there. “I’ve heard of those places,” of warrior monarchs and thieves in the night, and she wondered just how similar they were – if those lives had intersected again, and suddenly she was confessing a multitude of things too, because she wanted them to be real once more, before her, stretched out and beckoning. “I was born in the Dragon’s Throat, with my twin Clementine.” Her gaze shifted to Kiada’s, brows lifted, the pondering, the whirring, circling her mind. “I didn’t know my father. Mother never spoke of him.” But she’d thought, once, twice, that she might’ve met him, that he’d meandered around their home because of his interest, his intrigue, in the babes he’d shared with a woman he’d barely known. Despite the suspicions, it’d never been confirmed, and she’d always been forced to wonder why he didn’t appear before them. She hadn’t let it hurt her though, in the quiet cosmos and the dreary nights, where she stayed awake beside Clementine and stared at the stars, when she dared to dream.
Did she acquire anything from that man? Or had everything been of her own making?
“I’m nothing like my mother or sister,” and she laughed again, gentler still, cheeks dimpling before her eyes flickered back to her pot of soil, absent of seeds. Once she started talking though, it was as if she couldn’t stop, a tidal wave of memories catching her, a catalyst to all those lost particles and pieces she so desperately craved, wishing for things she could never have again. “They were gentle, sweet, and nurturing. I’m sure I scared mother more times than I could count, but I strived for adventure. She never faulted me for it though. I’m sure she realized I’d never be a healer, and that was okay. She wouldn’t have forced me.” Here her brows furrowed again, fingers plucking at more seeds, sending them into a tiny hole she’d made. “Clem and I lost her when Helovia collapsed. She saved us, pushed us into a portal.”
