MELITA
Despite the general atmosphere and business of the bar, Melita expected to be left to her own devices. She usually was, tucked away in her corner to plot away some other emboldened dominion, to muse and flicker about. At someone’s voice, she lifted her head from staring at her objects and trinkets, pondering which and what to utilize, blinking rapidly at the person before her. She didn’t know them; perhaps portions of the backdrop, of the scenery, of the surroundings, as she leapt and bounded through each streamlined terrain. The offer was sweet, compassionate, and kind though, so she didn’t respond with any brusque, capricious, mercurial, moody mannerisms: just a measure of surprise. “Oh, um,” then she glanced down at her wares, wondering if there was anything of worth or value sanctioned there. “I was hoping to put something up to remember Adam and Peter, and their companions. But I wasn’t sure what to use.” Whether or not this person knew them either was left unsaid; the uncertainty flickering over her skin.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
