[SWE] Festival of Lights

MELITA

Her hands shook as they clasped her lanterns, but she wouldn’t be daunted, wouldn’t be led away, wouldn’t be swindled into anything but the heralds of darkness, eager to put out flames for those she considered friends and brethren. It was a harrowing world – her eyes flickered over to the other lanterns already taking their places, little lights searing and smoldering in the void, reminders of things they’d lost. Except…they felt it every day, didn’t they? They didn’t need a festival to recall their losses, the spread of demise, the open, wasted apertures along their chests and hearts. It was there in bestial moments, when the timing was off and one turned to gesture to the other – finding them no longer beside one another, empty tables, empty chairs. It was there in moments of bliss, yearning to proclaim reasons for excitement. It was there when they needed sagacity and wisdom in a rush of sudden ignorance, and no one to provide it, no one to comfort, no one to hold. It was there in the whispers, in the scrolls, of dreams and nightmares, either yearning not to wake up, afraid they’d leave, or dreading the next morning, knowing, understanding, there was no turning back.

She hung Emmett’s lantern amidst the others who’d come to do the same – charmed, a little, by the number he’d already accumulated – and then maneuvered further down, into pinnacles of shade and shadow, where some flames didn’t exist yet. In her spare time, she’d created two more: one, bright, beautiful, and orange, painted in vibrant hues and vined in flower designs, each one a particular favorite, and she only wished she knew a way to embody music and songs and dance and tunes into the features – for sweet, wondrous Clementine. The second was for her mother, adorned and fabricated with lush herbs, some she’d picked, recognized from lifetimes ago, tucked into the lilac hues, with some crimson sand for the Dragon’s Throat, with some bandages from the infirmary, with everything Melita thought the compassionate, kind woman had represented.

Then she took a step away from them, staring at their poignancy, at their haunting vessels, at what they meant and symbolized. They would never return. Fangorn nestled at her ankles, trying to snag her attention, away from the sorrows, away from the heartache; but this evening seemed especially designated for grieving. So she did – alone, just as she’d been when they were torn away from her.

You're all gonna watch me
Disappear into the sun