MELITA
She spun and ricocheted, a dancing preamble to manifestations of infernos and munitions, because the steps were light, but the intonations savage, no clear, tangible movements other than ethereal bounces and nefarious ministrations. Her motivations were strictly unleashing all the restless iniquities and antics stored within her limbs, a freeing, liberation balance borne from chaos and embers, an incensed, kindled speck of a girl growing into her fiery foundations. Fangorn might not have enjoyed the process, if his growls and hissed were anything to indicate, but she was barely able to hear his malicious torrents over the warbling crowd, the high-strung music, or the pure mayhem lacquered to her feet. At the very least, she kept him lowered, until finally he was tucked into her arms as they coiled around merrily, making a wider arc around Remi and his crew.“Very impressive!” She called out to his unicorn dancing partner as she sported some breathtaking airs above the ground – the girl was half-tempted to copy some of them, and sported a few leaps and twirls of her own, red locks flying in the wind. At Remi’s call of Foghorn, Melita relished in a great, loud chuckle, and her gourd companion squawked out some indignant retort – but since she couldn’t understand any sense of pumpkin language, it was left by the wayside, without a retort behind it. A collective ramble of shouts followed, her bright, winsome smile hastening once more. “Fangorn,” she giggled. “How have you been?”
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
