MELITA
Even if Ludo came at her call, it didn’t mean the deity wasn’t tricky or devious. Melita had been given enough warnings from those who’d been under trials and tribulations from the celestial being too, who’d been cursed (or there had been Roana, given and granted a task she never got to complete – that the being was lectured for later), but due to her impetuous, emboldened behavior, didn’t really listen to those either. Perhaps time would tell. Perhaps she’d merely continue corresponding with her antics and flutter along, skimming the surface of specious underpinnings.More inquiries, but at least Oliver was seemingly invested, curious. “They wear a mask,” and she pointed, indicating the drawing where the disguise was clearly depicted. But a thoughtful hum drummed from her mouth at the sound of the herald’s voice, which seemed to alter depending on their mood. “Sometimes like this,” and she attempted a mild impersonation, full of whimsy and amusement, charmed and delighted by something, “and sometimes like this,” a deeper, anguished declaration, when scolded or admonished.
And for senses of power? “Yes! But that’s difficult to describe.” Often a flutter on the breeze, a ruffle of fabric and rags, enriched, embedded, varnished, and lacquered with a quality only Ludo could embody – a notion to be experienced for one’s self.
She's so hard to please
But she's a forest fire
But she's a forest fire
