MELITA
Ignoring the oh and choosing not to go deeper into the bizarre situations of relatives, especially as of late, she merely waited to see the reaction. He probably hadn’t needed another spyglass, but she was hoping it would count for something. Could act as a replacement. A backup, in case the other broke. Something useful and beneficial for forged lives at sea. Her eyes wandered, before shooting back to his face, waiting for some sentiment of reaction. So when he smiled, an ebullient grin, she gave her own, content and satisfied. “Eh, you put up with my shit. You probably deserved something.” A shrug of her shoulders followed, perhaps to indicate it wasn’t a big deal. While he tried it out, she snorted. “Don’t let Jack have it.” Magpie man. But she lifted her gaze out over the sea too, without her own spyglass, watching as the tide rolled in, carried along rivulets in the same rhythmical patterns as before. “You’re welcome,” the honeybee chirped in return, the depths of her brightness lifted and volleyed, rallying in its ferocity, rather than every other enraged sentiment.
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
