MELITA
The honeybee girl was no stranger to temptation – lived in it, thrilled and enthralled by its containments and adornments it, chased it down with fangs and claws, howls and roars, dins and chaos. This was no exception – eyes lingering on the will-o-wisps pulsing their eye through her sights. A mere gesture of forward, of advancing, and she was a goner, Fangorn warned and leaping after her, running in rampant, fervent exultation as lights danced and carved their way across forest floors. Come back! she wanted to say, still so much a child, forgetting about monsters and their lures, misplacing those vital experiences that told her not to race after the hollowed voids, that urged her to command some sense of danger amidst the temptation. But she was a tempest, a storm, a mercurial breeze that couldn’t be curbed; and when they reached the beach, the soil, the sand, she loosened a gasp.Fae were lined up, ready, for whatever was to come, and she wanted to bear witness, become a part of the mystery, the enigma, stretching itself across the land. She glanced at the stilts, at the village, at the wood rising from the deep, from the fathoms, and wished she could do the same – inching closer to Ronin and his raccoon friend (seeking out the familiar, the safety of others), a myriad of questions hastened across her tongue, but incapable of giving them voice, afraid to disrupt the strange, lilting peace and repose settling along the enchanting abyss.
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
