MELITA
Strange rituals indeed; perhaps amongst the oddest, considering all the other things, events, and experiences Melita could recall, remember, over the year she’d spent along Caido’s lines and thresholds. “I wonder how it started,” she laughed, but it sounded a little broken, a little sad, a little weary, of all the doomed vegetables before. “If someone simply grew tired of them one day, and brought a call to action.” She shrugged; absent-mindedly scratching Fangorn’s head again until the gourd purred. But instead of a companion, Melita found the stranger and her had another thing in common. “Oh, a twin!” Her smile became resplendent again, for an instant; recollections of bonds, of stumbling through wildflower fields and crowns made of blossoms, laughing, giggling, a collective gasp and grasp of merriment, mirth, and delight; Clementine forever the better half of her soul. Her eyes flickered back to the other, not even put off by the strained grin – as if it were on trial, uncertain of where to go or what to do – perfecting her own radiant aplomb. “I have – had – one too.” And then it fizzled and died on that last set of intonations, settling back into a quiet assemblage; gaze on the ground, a tilt of her head before remarking upon anything else. “What are they like?”
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
