MELITA
For once, either due to the sickness, or due to the fact that this was for Amalia and Ludo, she didn’t immediately attack Kiada, or even snarl, bristle, at her (and it might’ve added a little bit of vehemence and violence to the show; a reimagining of Cloisters as puppets clashed and flew apart at the glimmer of their contempt for one another). There were too many ruminations, too many things, too many unspoken voids to even bother with now – putting all her energy into the acts, raising her puppet luxere as if they were real, tangible, corporeal enigmas. She pictured Auni, how mischief and gentleness and light corded its way through his movements and motions, she thought of the mystical, slow parading steps some of the herd embodied, she imagined the depths of Long Night and their guiding, serenading light pushing monsters away. Despite her trembling hands, the girl mustered strength in the futility of the sicknesses’ traces, drawing her fury and might into movements of strings, into an act, a pretense, The deer were tricked, the deer were ensnared by Kiada’s Ludo marionette; emblazoned and courted by the lanterns, ensuring their little muzzles rose with the delicate flames, moths and moths and moths, drawn like sirens, starting hesitantly, then becoming all the more entranced, enchanted. They wanted to dance and mimicked the fake Ludo’s movements, some twirling, some baying, some spinning, enraptured, enticed, allured, and beguiled – their fates already sewn into stuffing and stories. So they followed, a willing herd, devout in their reverence for enthusiasm, completely caught in the web of trickery.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
