M E L I T A
Melita and Fangorn were not quiet, hushed, peaceful creatures. This day, they were heathens, racing down streets and alleys, playing games with one another simply so the honeybee girl wasn’t restless, and because the vampire gourd was eager to oblige. While the pumpkin bounded, making ridiculous hissing sounds and insinuating bloodthirsty challenges, the youth laughed, limber legs carrying her along corridors, ebullience rising towards chimneys and hedges, giggling away in the spring air. Together, they likely appeared as savages, her auburn locks bouncing in absolute, devilish glee, and the marauding companion’s intonations were enough to send anyone on edge; but it was diversions and amusements, sprung out of LongNight’s claws and talons, rippling through the stone pathways and varnished rubble because it was an opportunity to breathe, to entertain, to be something other than cooped-up and miserable.
Their silly tirades took them right past Phoebe’s porch, and when Melita looked up, she saw the familiar blonde hair. Instead of racing by, which she’d done to many other homes, houses, domiciles, and residences, she opted to wave, to catch her breath, to inhale and exhale the familiar smells of honeysuckle, daffodils, and lilies – a pang slashed its way through her heart, and she ignored it. “Hello!” She called from a fair distance, before grabbing hold of Fangorn, who’d already ceased panting and growling, proceeding closer and closer until her curious, inquisitive mind saw the petals and blossoms piled amidst one another; beautiful, warm colors. Clementine would’ve adored and revered them (this one is for joy, and they would’ve giggled together, weaving them amidst one another until their tiaras were adorned and covering their hair, attracting bees and butterflies in the middle of the fields). Her tones were fervent and ardent, hopeful, dabbling in the nature of the past, aiming for it in the present. “Are you making crowns?” She peeked over the edge of the wooden frame, face obviously eager and fervent, craving to ask if she could join – the memories and patterns would be in her fingers, easily divested and helpful.
