to be lit up from within
vein by vein
“Aww,” Melita murmured, fully tricked. The masked marauder turned out to be the real Amalia out on the waves, and the impulsive acts of the honeybee’s motions, movements, hadn’t mattered in the slightest. “Oh well,” she murmured to Fangorn, the poor gourd still petrified in her grasp as they wandered along the waves.Thereafter though, when everything else was unveiled, left the girl standing stock still. Ghosts and forms of the afterlife coiled and unfurled around them, and for a few moments she thought of the wraith within the Rift; how one had snagged its fingers around her throat, wrapped and choked, pretended to be her mother –
And safety seemed to be with the boat appearing, Ludo amongst the planks.
Her heart only settled as she advanced, following so many others, when she realized the spirits were merry and bright, vivid and real, clear and opulent along the currents and tides. They were happy; not wandering across the fathoms and depths to snag, to devour, to consume. The smallest sigh left her body, left her bones, and she grabbed the ladder towards the boat with one hand while Fangorn remained clutched in the other, a warm smile delivered to Ludo when she arrived on board. “Good game,” a steady croon, a nod of her head.
to be the sun
MELITA
