[seasonal event] drew herself to the surface

MELITA

A light chuckle, though she wasn’t certain why she laughed at the description, at the way worlds shook and changed, and still settled remnants of familiarity into their atmospheres. It was a pang of heartache, of things and people and places left behind, behind, behind in the aftermath of death and damnation, makeshift families trying to find their roots, trying to settle, when everything sent their way was blasting, devastation imminent. “That will be something to see,” the girl offered quietly, her eyes gazing down at the mud, at the spring laurels, at the foundations of other things crackling and building. “I’m Melita, by the way,” thinking to offer her hand, to shake, but wondering if it was far too late, introductions should’ve been long before.

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