to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
She’d rather be bright than continue sinking, latched onto it with a tight, clenched fists and a sensation of pride before the fall; allowing soft laughter, the ring of clarity and purpose, drive, behind the wallowing, extending over shadows with mercurial beams of light. Possibilities, variables, tangible things she might be able to believe in, instead of spiraling in and around the falling chords, chasing after ramparts that didn’t want her. She wouldn’t set her heart into them, a little more guarded now, a little less certain in how the earth churned and burned, when she’d once though she had the whole thing figured out, but the notions still stick their way into her mind, glowed and billowed, fanned and flamed. “He’d love that,” the honeybee girl assured, a corresponding hiss, grumble, and some beacon of a eldritch smile swarming over the gourd’s features. A place, a space, where she didn’t bombard, where she didn’t drift, where she didn’t cause some unwanted chaos or flicker into ash. Melita’s eyes fell, but only so she could allow a pinprick of a dream.
They rose again at her teasing, at the insinuation of Lusea, her guess an eager, fervent notation, but she didn’t taunt any further – content and happy for him, to have someone here. Resurrection always seemed to be an intriguing factor here; a number of the dead suddenly living again, like Ronin, hastened from wandering souls or brought back. In the end, did that mean others deceased in – the pondering desisted after a moment, recalling the shackles, the tethers, the lines, the scars, the brutality, from the same inquiry Zero once called upon Kaos. So the girl wouldn’t beg for her sister, wouldn’t cry for her mother, to be pulled and blessed and consecrated; not when they could come back wrong and maligned (the nightmares still crushing blows, the blemish still alive and crackling down her spine). Her smile didn’t falter away though, not allowing, not permitting the questions, the history, to show across her luminescent face. No need to make it all break, fetter, and fracture again. “Good for you! I’m excited to meet her!”
They rose again at her teasing, at the insinuation of Lusea, her guess an eager, fervent notation, but she didn’t taunt any further – content and happy for him, to have someone here. Resurrection always seemed to be an intriguing factor here; a number of the dead suddenly living again, like Ronin, hastened from wandering souls or brought back. In the end, did that mean others deceased in – the pondering desisted after a moment, recalling the shackles, the tethers, the lines, the scars, the brutality, from the same inquiry Zero once called upon Kaos. So the girl wouldn’t beg for her sister, wouldn’t cry for her mother, to be pulled and blessed and consecrated; not when they could come back wrong and maligned (the nightmares still crushing blows, the blemish still alive and crackling down her spine). Her smile didn’t falter away though, not allowing, not permitting the questions, the history, to show across her luminescent face. No need to make it all break, fetter, and fracture again. “Good for you! I’m excited to meet her!”
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
