MELITA
Tongue sticking out in idle concentration as she moved the paintbrush to fill in Pemota’s steampunk envisioned design, she still listened. Pausing briefly to gaze upon it, tilting her head in study, her eyes glanced over to Isla, then to the ground, pondering over the festival, strings of music, and if the Ancient would be able to hear them again.Torchline was easier to discuss, and so she went back to another stroke of the blue, and how often they’d had to rebuild themselves. It sounded like Isla, given the other rumors, had to do it more often than most of them, for while Melita had been to two worlds prior to this one, and lost her family in the interim, she hadn’t changed races – or species – to accommodate a life and a soul. “Maybe here will be better,” came on a small, soft smile, as she dipped her paintbrush back into the water, surveying her work. “I think you’ll have a good reception with it, either way.”
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
