MELITA
The honeybee had never really given herself an opportunity, or chance, to wonder if she was making good choices. The youth just committed to them, and off she went – scraping down trees, notching an arrow, kneeling at shrines of death heralds, begging for signs and answers in other platitudes. But she’d be content to tell others her opinions (often); emboldened and audacious, striking out against the world in all her ambitious, bewildering glory.Which seemed to have happened now – the hum and thrill of her excitement appeared to have surprised Maeve. Enthusiasm was a rampant condition in Melita’ existence, on multitude of angles and abilities, but she couldn’t remember if the Madame had ever seen her bolstered into such heights. Most likely not, given circumstances as of late. “Sure!” Because lavender honey sounded sublime, and the smugger wouldn’t squander such an occasion. With a contagious smile, she sifted through the sand with a much more wild eagerness, partially feral as she combined through granules, and regaled with descriptions of chorus bees. “They come around in Flowerbirth in the Grounds, and they hum melodies! They can buzz out lovely little songs.” As for tea, Melita accepted with a rapt series of nods.
help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts
Give the bruises out like gifts
