watch her dance, she beckons you
fair warning: leave her to herself
Swimming had always been one of her ideas: called to it even when born amongst the sands and dust. Perhaps the contortions had been initially due to the oasis, beautiful and siren-like in its own wake, where she’d rushed along its shallow shoal and embankments, where she splashed and played and pretended to be a damned sea monster while everyone else were heroes, thrusting their blades towards her menacing claws and riotous laughter. Then it’d been the ocean, the glass container concocted by moon goddesses, where they’d pressed their faces into its vestiges and stared upon the animals, the coral, the sea they’d normally been incapable of inhabiting. She’d explored and dove, she’d cherished and glided, a semblance of freedom even amongst the power of its waves, its currents; one wrong step, one aching muscle, one quivering bout of fatigue, and it could consume and swallow. Even when the earth had warned her off of so many things (like caves, like rivulets, like buzzing bees), she hadn’t cared, impetuous and reckless from her very first breath.
At his voice, at his laughter, as she pierced the surface, as she took in another fine layer of oxygen, Melita’s head twisted, wrinkling her nose and giggling all the while. “I won't give the gods credit for those skills. I learned on my own.” Like most of her techniques and talents; roughly-hewn, rudimentary until she gained more experience, until there was more at stake besides inquiry and amusement. She almost asked about his; but if he'd been born near the ocean, it probably went without saying. No one would leave their children to drown in their homestead. “Let’s see what I found,” and she swam again, graceful and buoyant, along the intervals, gliding over to the shoreline, where the companions rested and squawked.
Unleashed from her iron grasp, the rocks, plants, and pebbles tumbled down. There were the smooth ones clustered from the rock walls, but then an assortment of others: one blue-flecked, as if it hadn’t truly belonged in the depths of the crimson glow, others yellow, like gold but finer, lighter, a grated sienna, copper complexion, or ruby embossed, like the hues of its namesake.
At his voice, at his laughter, as she pierced the surface, as she took in another fine layer of oxygen, Melita’s head twisted, wrinkling her nose and giggling all the while. “I won't give the gods credit for those skills. I learned on my own.” Like most of her techniques and talents; roughly-hewn, rudimentary until she gained more experience, until there was more at stake besides inquiry and amusement. She almost asked about his; but if he'd been born near the ocean, it probably went without saying. No one would leave their children to drown in their homestead. “Let’s see what I found,” and she swam again, graceful and buoyant, along the intervals, gliding over to the shoreline, where the companions rested and squawked.
Unleashed from her iron grasp, the rocks, plants, and pebbles tumbled down. There were the smooth ones clustered from the rock walls, but then an assortment of others: one blue-flecked, as if it hadn’t truly belonged in the depths of the crimson glow, others yellow, like gold but finer, lighter, a grated sienna, copper complexion, or ruby embossed, like the hues of its namesake.
beautiful to see, but poison to touch
calm and chaos, evolved and still evolving
MELITA
