MELITA
It might’ve been the first time anyone had ever called Melita wise. Possibly the last too.But the genie was right. She was willing to take, willing to do anything to survive, willing to grasp her greedy hands into entrails and inveigling ploys, striving, determined, to get ahead when everything came fumbling, tumbling, down around her. But what did she desire above all else? What would she have chosen, out here in the midst of winter and Siberia, besides the gentle sands, the unforgiving heat, the relishing tapestries of the Dragon’s Throat whispering in her ear? Things she couldn’t have any longer – people, cherished, beloved family and friends, gone within an instant, knowing full well to ask for resurrecting blades was like pleading for another irreverent slide into the unknown (Zero had tried; and the scars along her back proved folly).
Her hand still went to Sunjata, the tension reeling and rolling, her gloved fingers a line in the drenched unknown. She couldn’t hear his answer, his reply, his response, and the foolishness continued to prosper and bound at her, Fangorn’s grumbles and hisses in her ear, almost a warning, almost an omen. But how many times had she placed herself in reckless denizens and escaped? How many times had she merely opened herself up to ruin and oblivion, and found the light? Maybe its ridiculous. Maybe its stupid. Maybe its asinine. But then again, maybe that made up her core, her existence, her beliefs. “I’ll take what the snow has to offer.”
--
Melita takes up the mystery boon!
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
