MELITA
The notion of the magical creatures stirred memories of distant hazes, of leathery wings flying across horizons, of those granted and gifted with such wondrous companions. “We had dragons back where I’m from too.” Something lovely and familiar, in a world once so brutally strange. Perhaps they’d been identical, incapable of caring for themselves, needing someone stronger to guide and protect, and then doing the same for their bonded. Another notion panged at her heart too, uncertain if it was pain or just glimmers of nostalgia, things she’d lost: the girl’s twin working on creating those connections amongst other things, the nonliving, rummaging along stones and rocks and various other materials. Like Zekle used to – maneuvering golems that followed, that played, that motioned through the air, animated pieces and portions of things that wouldn’t otherwise lift or dream. Her voice seemed inspired, wondering, pondering all the while, invested in the possibilities. “How would he make a rock come to life? Is there a magic actually like that?” Woefully ignorant of such things because she’d never had them, never relished in them beneath her skin, within her soul.
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
