Melita
Eating fire is your ambition
to swallow the flame down
to swallow the flame down
She traced her way over stumps and roots, launching and bounding with light steps that should’ve signified a soul with nothing entrenched or overbearing, naught tied or tethered to their presence. But she could feel a shift in the air, and didn’t like it – preferring to occupy her mind with the haphazard wake of her demonstrative, nymph-like motions. The laugh was soft and hushed, maybe as if it meant to not be exuded at all, and the ominous beacon in her chest started again. “Well, I plucked some of its feathers, but I haven’t tried them out on anything yet.” Standing on top of one of the less-rotted logs, the youth rummaged around the satchel along her shoulder, trying desperately to find a distraction, hands intending to grab hold of the emerald plumage –
Too late anyway, because by the time she’d retrieved them, Fangorn was grumbling below and his quiet murmur had managed to split apart the jungle air. Her eyes lifted from the clutched, delicate pieces of the potentially venomous bird, and some portion of her spirit desisted, faded; features downcast, worried, uncertain as her brows furrowed, as her mouth stretched into a drawn line. “What happened now?”
Too late anyway, because by the time she’d retrieved them, Fangorn was grumbling below and his quiet murmur had managed to split apart the jungle air. Her eyes lifted from the clutched, delicate pieces of the potentially venomous bird, and some portion of her spirit desisted, faded; features downcast, worried, uncertain as her brows furrowed, as her mouth stretched into a drawn line. “What happened now?”
to be lit up from within, vein by vein
to be the sun
to be the sun
