MELITA
Fangorn, satisfied with the outcome, released the tension along vines and eerie, enigmatic eyes, the rumbling growl ensuing thereafter displaying no outward signs of aggression. A learning curve, perhaps, for both individuals. Melita picked him up and plucked him directly into her lap, a soft sigh lingering through her chest. As for doing something for Clementine, the little orange-blossom child, with her winsome smiles and generous beneficence, Melita wasn’t certain what that could possibly entail. She’d been like the sun, like the wind, like the soft, dulcet breeze, the scent of wildflowers swaying along fields, a warm laugh, a generous giggle, always capable of following through on Melita’s half-skewed ideas. “Oh. I mean – I wouldn’t know what to do.” Her brows furrowed, mind buzzing while the rest of her body was quiet. Perhaps a constant barrage of petals and kindness; because Clementine had been the core of tenderness and amiability, while she, the lithe, limber, mercurial disaster, had launched into monstrous contortions and pretended to be a beast of the sea. Sunjata’s own generosity hadn’t been expected, and she didn’t know what to do in the face of it. Ignorance on all sides.
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
