Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
For once, the world was warm and the earth was grand, and she could settle herself upon the sands; indifferent to anything but the sun-kissed haze scintillating over her cheeks. A smile, a grin, erupted as she closed her eyes, and stretched out along the dunes, Fangorn at her side, tucked in along her hip, listening to the waves. Peace. Calm. Serene. Here she didn’t have to listen to the tirades of sailors, to the idiocy of her uncle, to the woes and strife sparking and winding its way through life after life. Here there were slight glimmers of tranquility, and they embedded, infused, into her veins, as if it was naught more than a dream –
And then the laughter started again; bright and effervescent, refined and tender, the sort of elegance one might find in a flower, in a bloom, in a copse, in a grove nestled with lilacs and lavender. Except Melita sighed, and strived to push past it, to not hear it, to not shatter and shudder beneath it, to remain chiseled into her rest and repose, to not let the miseries and agonies of another year cluster around her.
But louder and louder Clementine became, until Melita could nearly picture her twin running through meadows all over again – chasing butterflies, weaving rhapsodies, combining every essence of benevolence into one being. She’d been good and fair and kind and gone, and despite it all, the honeybee imagined her sister behind her eyes, not a cloud in the sky, just the twins of flames and flowers.
Except then it hastened, it beckoned, and so she rose, sitting up, head inclining over her shoulder, to see someone distinct and familiar racing towards Rae’s Fingers. Which was utterly bizarre, because not many but the smugglers and sailors themselves used the confines – she’d know – and by the yells, the calls, Aurelia was chasing after something.
Would she even understand how to use the tunnels? The youth doubted it; too new, too fresh, too inexperienced. While Melita had explored and assisted in destroying a monster within the depths, she figured the newcomer had done exactly none of those things, nor take a guide. There could be sinister things in those reaches. More fiends. More disasters.
Should she care? Fangorn rumbled and grumbled at her feet, and the youth rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she presided, grabbing hold of her sack resting in the sands, the quiver, and the staff in her hands. “But if you’re that dumb, honestly…” Her voice trailed off, picking over the rampaging stones and barreling footfalls of the other woman, listening, following, hastening. All the while, Clementine’s laughter glided before her, resounding and bounding off the walls, either leading or destroying (though her sister would’ve never committed the latter).
She huffed around a corner, irritated and annoyed that she had to do this at all, and cupped her hands together, manifesting a boisterous yell, a vicious roar meant to echo and reverberate throughout the surroundings. “Hey! You shouldn’t be in here!”
And then the laughter started again; bright and effervescent, refined and tender, the sort of elegance one might find in a flower, in a bloom, in a copse, in a grove nestled with lilacs and lavender. Except Melita sighed, and strived to push past it, to not hear it, to not shatter and shudder beneath it, to remain chiseled into her rest and repose, to not let the miseries and agonies of another year cluster around her.
But louder and louder Clementine became, until Melita could nearly picture her twin running through meadows all over again – chasing butterflies, weaving rhapsodies, combining every essence of benevolence into one being. She’d been good and fair and kind and gone, and despite it all, the honeybee imagined her sister behind her eyes, not a cloud in the sky, just the twins of flames and flowers.
Except then it hastened, it beckoned, and so she rose, sitting up, head inclining over her shoulder, to see someone distinct and familiar racing towards Rae’s Fingers. Which was utterly bizarre, because not many but the smugglers and sailors themselves used the confines – she’d know – and by the yells, the calls, Aurelia was chasing after something.
Would she even understand how to use the tunnels? The youth doubted it; too new, too fresh, too inexperienced. While Melita had explored and assisted in destroying a monster within the depths, she figured the newcomer had done exactly none of those things, nor take a guide. There could be sinister things in those reaches. More fiends. More disasters.
Should she care? Fangorn rumbled and grumbled at her feet, and the youth rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she presided, grabbing hold of her sack resting in the sands, the quiver, and the staff in her hands. “But if you’re that dumb, honestly…” Her voice trailed off, picking over the rampaging stones and barreling footfalls of the other woman, listening, following, hastening. All the while, Clementine’s laughter glided before her, resounding and bounding off the walls, either leading or destroying (though her sister would’ve never committed the latter).
She huffed around a corner, irritated and annoyed that she had to do this at all, and cupped her hands together, manifesting a boisterous yell, a vicious roar meant to echo and reverberate throughout the surroundings. “Hey! You shouldn’t be in here!”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
