MELITA
Smoke and crimson, but not anything as incriminating as ashes, as cinders, as embers coiling over memories, and though dazed, confused, on the torrent pulsing and beating into their eyes, shaking her head, pulling further into her hats and hoods and parka; it disappeared just as quickly as it’d come. She breathed in the space of absent smolders, until the howl, until the unearthly, otherworldly laughter, pieces and places of ethers she wouldn’t know or dare to dream. Her eyes widened at the scope of the scene as it unfolded, man and fire, spewing out conflagrations along, within, the snow, the gathered.There was an instant, a beat, where she had no idea what to do, what to say, what to think. Fangorn tucked further into her arms, half a moment away from hissing, and Sunjata had pooled around her legs, jungle cat manifestations; one of her hands reaching out to his back, between shoulder blades, scratching and petting, striving to reassure. She wasn’t certain if she should’ve been. If this was truly something to be apprehensive about. To be feared. But her gaze kept going up and up and up, listening to the discourse, to the benedictions laden, likely with prices.
The girl was daring, bold, and sometimes very dim. “I have a wish,” she declared, bright and enigmatic, the depths of her voice likely lost behind the fabric pulled over her mouth, or in the smile etching its way beneath, in the laden temptation amidst the crowd.
--
Melita asks for a wish!
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
