Looking for Trouble

MELITA

Melita supposed there was nothing wrong with a peaceful, pacifist outlook – dreaming in repose and sanctuaries, in sanctums and doves; she’d simply never been that type of girl. Clementine had, though not outright, simply lived amidst the clouds, the stars, the moons, the suns, drifting in and amidst songs and dance, pulling Melita along those flowery, blooming threads, and for a few seasons, it had been simple, just, and poetic. But time passed and the worlds came crashing down, and instead of bending like a lissome, limber willow, or decaying like the last fronds of a fern, the honeybee girl had dug down, deep, deep, and deeper still into the fire in her soul, allowed it to become unleashed so her sister, her twin, her bonded, could be protected, shielded, defended in the harsh, unrelenting terrain. For a while, it had worked, until everything else unraveled and fell apart too, and Melita hadn’t been enough. Not anymore, she’d whisper into the darkness, daring it to try and crawl back over her spine and rampage through her heart. You won’t have any of mine again, she howled back in adversity, constantly resisting, eternally devout to subversion.

The Gods had decided for Phoebe, that in order to know and utilize danger, she first had to understood it, live it. Anyone could find treachery, if they knew where to look, if they comprehended what they sought, if they could fathom the reaches, the depths, oblivion and ruin could take them. The youth once wound herself into all of those dark, bestial places, and came back stronger, more determined, and crushed, beneath the infernal weight placed upon her shoulders. She lifted them in a shrug now, listening, catching those falling strands of reasons, of motivations, of aspirations. “Nothing wrong with gaining some bravery and experience.” She found herself agreeing with those celestial beings who’d put Phoebe to this task – because she believed in strength, in conviction, in never backing down, in being capable of unfurling, of releasing, one’s own brand of hell before the rest of the void could return it. She swung her staff from side to side, knocking it into a few brush below her feet.

If I don’t push my boundaries, then I will never grow.

“Exactly,” Melita winked, playfully nudging Phoebe’s ankles with the end of her staff, then reaching around with it to strike at a fallen log, listening for the intonations, for the possibilities, of maneuvering vines, or shirking walls closing in. “If you want, I can always help train with you too.” Perhaps, if they made it out of the labyrinth in one piece, Phoebe would be willing to push herself a little further.

See I've come to burn your kingdom down