MELITA
Perhaps Melita’s favorite part was Ludo’s appearance; enough to put a halcyon smile back on her face as glitter was thrown upon the audience and stage, showering them in sparkles and delight, obvious pantomiming mask draped and adorned in lashes and lips, as if that was how Safrin had been seen all along. She had no ability to stop her roar of laughter, and strived to pretend it was from the luxere she still dangled along their strings – only distantly stifled when Safrin’s voice popped up from the realm, unimpressed with her current portrayal. The youth made herself listen to the story instead of dreaming up more misdeeds and giggling machinations, the mischief alive and well in her blood, in the quivering of her hands, in the shifting of luxere strides.She made them cheer and dance again, rounds of beatific, gilded, enlightened movements, like the glow of a wintry moon, like the span of a hallowed sunrise. They were Deepfrost’s newfounded grace, incapable of granting the ethereal beams and luminescent chords until the right season, until they could assemble beneath snow and ice. The youth acted as if they’d been banished, lines and strings pulled along voids and shrouds, until the time was right, until the moments were clear.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
