to be made of sunshine is beautiful
to be the light and the warmth and to be loved
The girl wasn’t certain on how to answer him at first. She would’ve liked to have been dangerous, treacherous, feared at some intervals in her life, when she rushed into maelstroms and melees, when she pushed and defied, when she unraveled in a seditious spread, when monsters came crawling and all she’d ever wanted to do was defend. So the wicked contortions to her, the kind that twisted and turned, that gnashed in her irreverence, in her revolutionary spirals, curled like her hair against her skin, pushed across the surface of her tongue, behind her teeth. “Yes!” Dipped in triumph, as if it were something to become enthralled in – heathen, savage, nefarious tendencies, as if the world might hold itself at bay, afraid and apprehensive of their motives and agendas (never; the wind seemed to say, nothing put off the laws of the lands, the gods’ hands). Her eyes flicked back to him, wondering what portions of him were coated, lacquered, or enameled in precariousness; or if it was just a dream, like hers.
Then the gilded gaze lifted back to the labyrinth, over the distance and expanse that she could glance over – the high-rising hedges she’d once explored with Phoebe because the other girl had wanted to challenge herself and Melita had always dared a little too much. She’d never thought of its creation or contortions, why it existed, how it existed, just there like so many other ancient ruins, pieces and portions of legends, of pasts, she’d yet to uncover. “I wonder why it’s here.” On the airs of speculation, tipping her head, the warmth still on her breath, gliding along the bestial, enigmatic, eerie void. What was the purpose? Who’d created it? Why did it exist? Did it house or hide something, deeper and deeper into the warren?
And then the inspiration coiled over her toes, and she grabbed hold of her weapons leaning against the trunk, placing them in her bag slung over her shoulder, Fangorn in one arm, maneuvering until she dangled from her branch, and then leapt the rest of the way. What it lacked in elegance and finesse, the descent made up for in her devilish smile. “Do you want to go in?”
Then the gilded gaze lifted back to the labyrinth, over the distance and expanse that she could glance over – the high-rising hedges she’d once explored with Phoebe because the other girl had wanted to challenge herself and Melita had always dared a little too much. She’d never thought of its creation or contortions, why it existed, how it existed, just there like so many other ancient ruins, pieces and portions of legends, of pasts, she’d yet to uncover. “I wonder why it’s here.” On the airs of speculation, tipping her head, the warmth still on her breath, gliding along the bestial, enigmatic, eerie void. What was the purpose? Who’d created it? Why did it exist? Did it house or hide something, deeper and deeper into the warren?
And then the inspiration coiled over her toes, and she grabbed hold of her weapons leaning against the trunk, placing them in her bag slung over her shoulder, Fangorn in one arm, maneuvering until she dangled from her branch, and then leapt the rest of the way. What it lacked in elegance and finesse, the descent made up for in her devilish smile. “Do you want to go in?”
to be made of sunshine is painful
to be too hot to touch, too far away to reach
MELITA
