MELITA
Out of defiance, the youth sanctioned a devilish, Cheshire grin, eyes narrowing briefly as she eyed the griffin and its counterpart. “Maybe I’ll fill it with everything!” Everything beautiful and wild and free, savage and untamed and barbaric, so there was always something radiant and divine and potent, a powerful surge in Sunjata’s wake, a beatific presence he could always lean into and upon. Watching the vampire gourd chase after the griffin wasn’t exactly the most elegant of motions – difficult to have a refined gait when one had no legs – but Fangorn managed to bound and leap and assail to the best of his abilities. Melita didn’t even bother to hide her laughter, allowing it to flow in waves as they tagged and pressed, everything innocent, juvenile, and somewhat senseless, what all fledgling things should have when they were young, unaware, and ignorant, before being tethered to a multitude of enamel and lacquer, harmed and carved upon.
The solemn ventures spread though, and she hadn’t meant it, nothing deliberate in her intentions, but still there, residing in the air just the same. How like her, to note something along impulsive tongues, not drag it across her teeth first, but allow it to pervade and persist without thought. Her eyes flickered downward, the slightest wrinkle to her nose caught, then gone in an instant, fighting over the contortions of her own stupidity. But the you’ve got me hit hard too, and for some apprehensive moment she could conjure all the ghosts of her past, all the wraiths, all the phantoms, all the specters and family and friends, those she’d sworn to protect and defend and shield - gone. Maybe because she’d been inadequate. Maybe because she hadn’t been enough. Maybe because each world was crueler than the last. “You’ve got me too,” the girl proclaimed, smile edging its way back, but then wondered, pondered, if it mattered – if her efforts were worth anything, if some day, she’d fail him too.
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
