MELITA
Melita carefully withheld a giggle at the conflagration of phrasing, syllables, and the way they seemed to invoke other things besides tributes and ceremonies to memory. It sounded more like a war-cry, or a call to disaster and ruin, so she waved her hand off at the proclamation, the slightest wrinkle to her nose. “Hm. Maybe something else then.” At least Sunjata agreed, and perhaps it would simply have to be pieced together later, or within another’s creative mind. The honeybee child had never been one to suitably craft a grand scheme, too impulsive, too rash, too brash, to do or orchestrate much more than bombarding the world with energy, zest, and force. “It will come.” She promised though, like so many other oaths; but this one could come true.Her eyes roll at his latest remarks, but she won’t go so far yet. “I’ve been reserving my insults for Kiada.” And she had a plethora of them, ready and willing and eager, when the time and opportunity was right, partially for the destroyer of worlds to be stunned for half a moment, and the other portion dipped and enriched with petty, vengeful behavior. She ought to have moved on from her disastrous plans, but hadn’t been capable – the edges, the knives, the daggers too deeply embedded. “Did you have any more you wanted to teach someone?” She winked, clearly meaning herself – keen, ardent pupil when it came to munitions and chicanery.
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
