M E L I T A
The honeybee youth sighed with relief when she realized she’d stumbled upon a friendly stranger – she’d half-expected menace and misery, because her past experiences were riddled and mired with a sliding scale of treachery, deceit, and camaraderie. Sometimes it was everyone for themselves, and other moments they’d all sprung together in a single act of defiance. It was wonderful to know that this was neither a rebellion nor a vicious assault; an acquaintance spiced with the incandescent aroma of food.
“Thank you!” She chirped, much like a bird (a phoenix, a thunderous, malicious thing beneath all the threads of brightness and enchantment), grabbing hold of the proffered stick like it was a prized possession. Her eyes caught the way the other woman stabbed into the gourd and held it over the fire, and she mimicked the motion, plunging directly into the heart of her chosen vegetable with little restraint. A warrioress’s smile gleamed from her lips for a fraction of a second, as if she were reliving past days filled with mayhem and distortion, before equating it was a bout of normalcy, gilded gaze springing back towards Rexanna. “They smell divine!” She raised her nose in the air for good measure, closing her eyes to relish in the cooking scents. The girl even managed to settle herself closer to the inferno, akin to its blazing heat, enjoying the warmth of its glow, the seething spit, the promise of eventual food. If the stranger was overtly friendly, coy, or amorous, the nymph didn’t notice; too enamored by the notion of an incoming meal. “I’m Melita,” she offered, gaze going back and forth from the roasting pumpkin to the kind wanderer.
