MELITA
Melita didn’t know what she wanted. In some ways, it’d been eternally clear: strength, persistence, fire, and blood; she’d grabbed hold of those in her iron, steely grasp and never let them go. But her family? Which grew and blossomed so much that she should’ve been thrilled, should’ve been ecstatic, only seemed overwhelming, tiring, exhausting, because of the parameters associated with it. Her uncles constantly getting into some modicum of shit. Children appearing from gods. Long-lost siblings carving their way through sands and schisms. She felt out of alignment, out of place, because she didn’t readily go with the streamlined waves or the press of foolishness. Instead of leering further into agony, she hunted monsters and smuggled on ships, drew back her cannon strands, pulled at her bow strings, and kneeled at Ludo’s altars until she found like someplace, somewhere, was going to become home. “Thank you,” she managed to warble. “You’re very kind.”But it didn’t; no essence of home stuck to her now, pressed into her heart. It was all residual effects and aspirations for what was before. And Kamaria was still laden there, draped around her, and the honeybee choked back a lot of things shackling and tethering her soul together. “I can’t deal with them.” With Sunjata, because there never seemed to be any thought pattern there and she yelled while he shut down and together they were just maelstroms, with Nate because he kept returning when he should’ve been angry and she was so cross for him, and no one seemed to care. It didn’t matter. And they’d made that loud and clear.
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
