MELITA
The blight’s insistence much less, the youth tucked herself into coats and furs, then wandered out into the cold, staff and sighs in hand. Fangorn nestled his way against her ankles and strived for a purr, and without much preamble the girl lifted him to her arms and curled into his form – a hug, an embrace, something to ward off the chill still rampaging its way through her. Her limbs still shook and her heart still burned, but she was alive, alive, alive, and it would take a lot more to defeat her. Maybe.They followed the storm, not capable of flight, of magic, of motions other than walking, running, leaping, and bounding, but the energy wasn’t there today – so the pair glimpsed into the blizzard, into the tempest, with eyes on snowflakes and powdered abyss. Perhaps she would get lost in it, and no one would need to find her, not ever again, and it would be fine, no one would miss her, not after everything she’d done –
A roar loosened its way from the Outskirts, and on mere curiosity alone, they ambled forth, following routes and trails, towards beckoning wails and siren howls – just the once. Her gilded eyes wandered from gathered individuals, yearning to wave at Remi’s manticore form or Phoebe’s proximity, but her stare was rendered and riveted to the form before them. It was unlike anything she’d encountered – at once, slightly draconic, but losing the finer edges of treachery and danger with the sketches of its frame; the long nape an embodiment of serpents and something else altogether. Enamored, intrigued, and unraveled, perhaps for the first time in weeks she smiled, staring fondly at things that made no sense, but just happened to be.
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
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
