MELITA
The recital and rehearsal over, and Melita’s smile softened again, content and happy for her friend. She nearly asked her must it be like, to become something else altogether, powerful or unique, pondering over how it was drawn through veins, muscle, and tissue, if it was just a thread to be plucked, a satisfaction in one’s flesh and blood. If there was something beyond merely shifting, if animalistic instincts took over, and if one was already a predacious, carnivorous thing, was there any alteration at all? Did she look too deeply into it, striving to see something that it wasn’t?She stood then, indifferent towards her damp clothes, the way the water seeped and soaked into the fringes and edges of her dress, picking up a few stones along the way, adding them to the collection already forming in her bag. The youth hadn’t even thought about anything else for a moment, strangled and mired and rooted deep in her thoughts, so her head sprung up swiftly, quickly, at Lily’s question, at her concern. “Oh, I’m fine.” A handwave, brushing everything aside, attempting to not strangle herself down into the reaches and niches of despair. “You just reminded me of my sister. She loved to sing.” A half-smile crooked along her mouth, fading visibly when her eyes went elsewhere, hands searching for a distraction, bending down to grab hold of a particularly bright, ivory rock. Maybe it was just the time of year – between floods of memories, lantern making, souls left to go off to Mort, and Melita completely uncertain where her family’s had ended up.
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
