Your songs remind me of swimming

MELITA

“No,” she answered, not Destined (or Abandoned - though that title seemed far more fitting for someone of her essence) for anything at all, with her clenched fists and emboldened fervor, with her blistered, seething past, with the role of shield and sword. There was no magic along her soul, not like her mother’s healing endeavors, not like her sister’s whimsical hums and beatific croons – anything and everything she was had been snagged by her own hands: asking for training, for development, for growth. One of her brows arched in a seditious spread as the strange woman asked her next question – pondering if they were threats layered between one another, if there was something else lying underneath, if she should explain anything at all or leave it lying out in the open, curious and intriguing, but nothing revealed. “He’s my companion-“ But then that was it, all she could surmise, or intended to, because something else glimmered on the horizon.

A fluttering nuance and decibel flickered into her ears, her head whipped around to wings and dragonfly intervals, a man touching, then crouching along the ground that could’ve only been Fae, and some outstretched smile managed to find its way back to her mouth; as if she were secure, safe, guarded from glowstones and apprehensive notions, not left for naught out in the middle of the oasis. “Hello!” She called, welcoming a distraction, waving, but not straying from her spot – lingering on the water. The youth wasn’t certain if the Fae hadn’t wanted to be spotted – and if he’d craved to remain hidden, she was regretful and apologetic for it.

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