MELITA
She was a part of the breeze, the bones, the bridge, the length of marrow and tissue as she walked, waltzing along with no trepidations curled into her movements. The youth breathed fire and brimstone, then savored the relish of the tempestuous eaves; tightening her grip on Lily’s when the singer seemed to lose some ambition – swinging their arms back and forth with the melody under her breath, tilting her head to listen to the story of the clever woman who’d outwitted her intended. Melita could understand some of the implications, that the king was distrustful because of an affair, but to murder? To kill? What had been the threat? What had been the motive except shame? As for the rest of the unfortunate wives, the youth wrinkled her nose, pondering over which measures of disdain to amplify or release judgment. Thankfully, it seemed to be only a myth, a legend, though she was a tad bit irked that after everything, the monarch had twisted it back around, left the poor Scheherezade to maintain the place of Queen. Perhaps she’d wanted it anyway; far greater, far wiser, than the man in charge, not deluded, but manipulative to her survival tactics and means. Melita could appreciate that. “She should have found someone better.” Then she smiled, an embellished grin, and laughed as the curls, as the plumes, of fog and mist rolled over them, sinking into ivory vapor.Not deterred or dismayed, the youth obliged with her own saga. “Once, there was a world of smoke and ash, fire and blood, flames and dragons. It was savage, untamed, and beautiful. All around it were other terrains, but it was said to be the best of the best, wild and capable of anything.” The youth was biased, of course, as the same terrain was imbedded in her ichor, in her lungs, in her heart – draconic enterprises and intervals she could never have again, “One day, a body was discovered – dead as a doornail, barely any clues to suffice the meaning, who or what had accomplished such a dastardly thing.” Her voice took on an ethereal, eerie whisper, lowering it to signify the mystery, the bewitching, alluring segments and fragments. “Each week, another one lain stone cold. Finally, the gods became involved, asking for each kingdom to make teams to track down suspects, signs, or traces. As the season wore on, fingers were pointed, and accusations were made. Who was the murderer? Why were they doing this? What compelled them to such crimes?” A Cheshire grin unfolded over her features again, wide and effervescent, akin to some cat who’d snagged and consumed the canary in one bite – pausing only to unfold the drama, to wait for Lily’s input or decrees.
You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun
Disappear into the sun
