[seasonal event] drew herself to the surface

MELITA

The truth of the sentiment only caused the slightest frown; humans and their derivations of wants, needs, and cravings, desires manifested into greedy conundrums that only served themselves. How many times had she been at the same faultlines, staring across expanses, leaping and bounding without a care in the world? With no thought to repercussions? With no agony to surmise until far, far later, when it was too late? The inward flinch was enough, her fingers tapping lightly on Fangorn’s ridges, the gourd purring at the pats.

The nature of twins and their discordancy was intriguing and interesting too – the girl wasn’t aware of how many other siblings had been lost in the intertwining of portals, in the shifting of too many other lands, worlds, and kingdoms. It made sense in a way, the Voice’s manipulations not casting to just anyone and everyone, taking and snagging where she could, separating, parting, devastating bloodlines and ties. No care or thought there either – just doing, just orchestrating, means to ends. “Mine died,” was all she could muster in the end – no experiment there, no testing or trial except for Melita’s own tribulations, miseries, and defeats. Another one of the Rift’s casualties. Another one she couldn’t save. Maybe it was fine then, so that dear, sweet Clementine wasn’t exposed to harsher outlines of this realm either. The rumination caused her to shudder, furrow her brow, entirely too cold.

She sighed and fixed the error, the flaw, in her machinations, tilting her head to study the other girl for a moment, warm, sundry smile reappearing, deciding on relegated features, if she ever came upon meeting the twin. “What do you guys like to do?” Twins and their bonds, their relations, those ties that couldn’t be broken or shattered – until there was just one.

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