MELITA
They gathered, drawn and enticed, and her essence stirred, waiting impatiently for something to happen. What was going to appear? What were the Fae so excited about? Was it ominous, foreboding, or enchanting, alluring, like the rest of the fey outlines, quietly, unassumingly bewitching, calling them over from their hollowed lands? Her eyes swarmed to those nearby, to Ronin and his raccoon, to Wessex nearby, to Fangorn at her ankles, his eerie stare fixated and focused on the stilt village. She followed his gaze, watching as something seemed to rise amidst the long, wooden beams – carried and assembled by other Fae – approaching, closer and closer, a thing, a sight to behold.The ethereal container and being inside screamed regard and rectitude (who was she? What was she? What was going to happen?) – and the girl did so, following the same paths and sketches others made, folding herself over in a polite bow, a practice of reverence from days of Helovia, beneath the weight and wake of the Sun God’s gaze. While this may not be her preferred flames and infernos, she was willing to wait and see. Fangorn followed suit as best he could, lowering his glance, studying a few insects nearby.
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
