I keep dancing on my own

MELITA

The girl laughed as the tuft of feathers unfurled their way up his arm, appropriately charmed and amused by the alterations. “I wasn’t aware you had any other forms!” She was dazzled and amazed; but the intonations could have slid in various directions and intervals – they all partook in alternating sides of coins and complexities. There was more to Remi than just the majestic lion. There was more to Melita than the dancing, rambunctious imp.

Their date/spar pinpointed and determined, she flashed another wide, winsome grin of her own, complete with a wink. She had a lot to look forward to – on the path to greatness and triumph, simmering in her bones, in her flesh, in her blood, to breathe and take, to scald and sear, to simmer and pick apart those who’d dared to underestimate or snag something, someone from her. “So do I!” She raised her eyebrows in a series of teasing, upward motions, then giggled again, spiraling and twirling, on the edge of potency and potential.

The child, however, was a different matter entirely; no longer amused by any antics going on around her. The dancing ceased when Aoife’s screeching materialized, and Melita inched closer, always a bit cautious and curious with infants. Truth be told, rarely had she been granted the opportunity to gain access to any; she’d been quite young herself when her world came crashing down, and she hadn’t presumed any occupying time in the Rift had made anyone want to procreate – the realm had been too harsh, too unrelenting. A babe would’ve been a sitting duck, an easy meal. She stayed nearby, wavering and uncertain, but still there, a smile on her face. “Unfortunately, I don’t.” She couldn't speak baby, but she could certainly speak juvenile and impish frivolities. Would the little one want to play a game? Her sister had enjoyed amusements and diversions when they were tiny. Melita proceeded, advanced, until she was quite close to the youth, before finally placing her hands over her face, as if she’d disappeared. A moment later, she lifted her palms and made a radiant face, as if she were glowing and resplendent, reappearing into the refrains.

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