you must burn brighter than ever
Stem over stem, frond over frond, petals rising to the forefront – blends of rose and blue, cerulean and violet, pressed together in a collection of wispy sprigs that would seem like the culmination of spring if they weren’t so readily adorned in the honeybee’s hands. Perhaps sparks of vibrant red, a brilliant crimson, would’ve been more apt or appropriate, but she collected them in the segment of cool colors just the same, eventually completing the circlet, rounding out the edges in her palms. Even if her eyes were down, her mind still formulated thoughts on Aurelia’s conversation, watching quietly when the other crown made its disappearance. “And they only use that word because that’s what the Voice was before.” Before, before, before, lifetimes of history and hate, experiences churning over here once more. The past repeating, revolving, and here they were, contemplating running straight into it again.
She paused in snapping away excess twig and stem, lifting her features back up to the older woman once more. “You’re not tainted to me. And I don’t think you should believe it if anyone else calls you that.” Pointed and fixed, emboldened and complex, before sighing. “You had no control over how you were born anyway. They hold judgments over people who had no choice.” Melita – as an Accepted, had two options – and had taken neither. Content with the way she was.
But then she noted the way Aurelia avoided her other inquiry, took it as a hint, and merely placed the finished crown upon her head, so it blended in with the wild locks, so that it took her back to better, more peaceful times; interludes of another world entirely. Not without war, and not without repose, but they always seemed so different. Maybe they weren’t at all.
The subject change had her fingers picking up the petals and flowers dropped, tossing them overhead, showering them in cascading hues. “Oh. I’ve been to the Climb before. When everyone was sick. I dragged Milo there.” She grinned, very Cheshire, at the thought of the runner outside of Torchline. “We were trying to find something to help with the cure – walked into a very weird…cathedral like place. All black.” Her brows furrowed slightly, sentiments derailing elsewhere. “And you don’t know how it happened?”
She paused in snapping away excess twig and stem, lifting her features back up to the older woman once more. “You’re not tainted to me. And I don’t think you should believe it if anyone else calls you that.” Pointed and fixed, emboldened and complex, before sighing. “You had no control over how you were born anyway. They hold judgments over people who had no choice.” Melita – as an Accepted, had two options – and had taken neither. Content with the way she was.
But then she noted the way Aurelia avoided her other inquiry, took it as a hint, and merely placed the finished crown upon her head, so it blended in with the wild locks, so that it took her back to better, more peaceful times; interludes of another world entirely. Not without war, and not without repose, but they always seemed so different. Maybe they weren’t at all.
The subject change had her fingers picking up the petals and flowers dropped, tossing them overhead, showering them in cascading hues. “Oh. I’ve been to the Climb before. When everyone was sick. I dragged Milo there.” She grinned, very Cheshire, at the thought of the runner outside of Torchline. “We were trying to find something to help with the cure – walked into a very weird…cathedral like place. All black.” Her brows furrowed slightly, sentiments derailing elsewhere. “And you don’t know how it happened?”
Melita
