M E L I T A
Acceptance – raw and real, chiseled the radiance and luminescence along the girl and made her all the more beaming, all the more tangible, glowing, a luster of potency and fortitude, might in the amber weight of her stare.
To Fangorn’s delight, Vai moved no closer despite her warm words, and he presumed it was due to his ferocious, terrifying appearance. Melita shook her head and rolled her eyes at him, but her sundry grin managed to withhold the horrors of her companion, slinking further into curiosity and mayhem. She stepped lightly, a piece of air, ethereal and delightful when she chose to be; more often than not she was a leaping blade in the grass, rambunctious, dangerous, and impulsive, an impetuous flash of fervency and passion. “What other interesting things have you seen?” Her eyes flickered back to Vai, and held every ounce of intrigue, mayhem, and mischief imaginable, a lover of stories, a forgotten portion of fey and fairy, battle-intrepid shield maiden and fiery, ferocious imp all thrown into one.
But her inquiries were boundless, endless, eternal in the soft light and Flowerbirth air; no longer distracted by the hums and melodies of bees, she was allowed to suddenly delve into every nuance and notion she could think of, Fangorn tightly clasped to her shoulder as she bounded over a fallen log. On second thought, she leaped back toward its sanction, and climbed on top of it, balancing along the threshold with graceful, vigorous ease. “What do you like to do?” Melita uttered as she played along the wood, before diving off its end and into a patchwork of leaves and brush, turning towards the other woman once more, genuinely interested – there were all sorts of purposes thriving along these crowns and kingdoms, and while Melita had persisted, had endured, had survived, the only thing that ever held her attention long enough had been fighting, skirmishes, and sedition.
