M E L I T A
Melita seemed to have easily forgotten that Fangorn might cause confusion or trepidation. It wasn’t long before that they were busy purging the violent, vampiric pumpkins, she included, and here she was, settled with one as a companion. “That’s Fangorn,” she whispered as Rexanna gave the gourd a directed look. “He was one of the few that survived. I had to take him in.” Then she winked, as if this was the most reasonable explanation to finding a runt of an eerie, enigmatic demon, and therafter, turned her complete attention back to the deer.
She had to stop herself from squealing in delight when the luxere loomed closer to her, its velvetine muzzle reaching out and grabbing hold of her proffered apple. In fact, her hands shook slightly, so excited, so ebullient, to have this ethereal, beautiful creature willing to eat from her palm, as if she were worthy. Carefully, she turned her head towards Rexanna, the broadest grin on her face, an almost can you believe it look to her features, when she realized she’d somehow stepped ahead of her friend, had taken precedence in the eyes of the glowing luxere.
That hadn’t been her intention at all; but greed and mercenary exploits had always been rooted in her blood, in her veins, take what you can get when you can a long-held experience from her childhood and youth spent in the Rift. The girl slid slightly out of the way, her unoccupied hand grabbing hold of another apple and placing it in Rexanna’s palm. The billowing air of the luxere’s breath tickled her skin, and she giggled beneath her vivid, vibrant hum, hoping the others would approach the compassionate woman.
So they did – looming closer and closer, until Rexanna suddenly had a swarm of about two or three surrounding her, each hoping for their treat.
