MELITA
Crimson mischief, perhaps, embedded and emboldened by traits and attributes of strong, bull-headed women. Her features rampaged into an illustrious, glorious little smile, dipping along the edges and obviously rife with impish accord. She hugged the woman back, enjoying the reel of friendship again, as if everything else had been scorched and burned in the interim. Thereafter, she gathered a few more rocks in her hands too, some a placid, muted, pale ivory, others heralding a mingling of manifested blue and lavender, tucking them into her bag as Lily spoke. The devilish delight was reflected in the other ginger’s smile, so she laughed. “A while,” a solemn nod to follow, uncertain of what had kept them apart. Time and business, she supposed – Melita off to train with whatever weapon she could get her hands on, then maneuvering out to sea when the anchor was lifted. A tilt of her head indicated her curiosity, however, voice inviting it even more so. “What have you been up to?”
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
