From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
03-04-2019, 05:59 PM (This post was last modified: 03-15-2019, 08:59 PM by Melita.)
M E L I T A
The restlessness spiraled its way down her spine, along her shoulders, and out with a breath from her lungs. She thought some of it likely pooled its way down into her chest during Deepfrost, and then curled and contorted its way into her veins, into her flesh, into her bones, throughout LongNight, where she could do naught but wait and linger. Melita was not a being christened for languid, listless intervals; she was movement, she was motion, she was sound, loud, raucous endeavors and a splendor for life. She grasped hold of elements with her teeth and nails, provided vibrancy, hollered and howled into the midnight skies and asked them to do their worst because she was ready to rebel against their monstrous regimes. But this kingdom was different, vast, filled with uncertainty; a pattern she’d transcribed long ago in a world she understood.
So she roamed and wandered, tucked her feet into her boots, scooped up Fangorn and her satchel, maneuvering through the thawing snow and the disappearing rime, lifting her face to the sun so she could be caught in its warmth. It was pale and wan and a little lifeless, but it was better than the constant, overbearing weight of twilight and its secrets; here, in the hushed, soft bells of spring, she could almost feel the desert air clinging to her skin, the sand beneath her toes, the space between hearts and souls not so distant, not so far gone.
The gourd eventually wound his way to her shoulder, and they bounded together into woods and fields, eager for a distraction, for anything and everything to leap into their sights. There were images of LongNight’s talons and knives flanking the scenery, but there were beautiful edges too, rounding out the sharpened blurs with petals and plumes, with greenery outshining the dark, bestial shades of gloom and damnation.
It wasn’t all oblivion – her heart settled when they lingered far enough into the glade, where the wonders exploded in a series of already vibrant hues blending, melding, and molding. There were buds on trees, inching their way across boughs in pink and white outlines, subtle petals blooming beneath the wide-open copse. Only here did she finally smile, because there pieces of peace, harmony, nestled in the chambers of birdsong and light, delicate ether; Clementine would’ve loved it here, stopping to smell each blossom as it made its debut into the world.
She nestled herself down below a massive tree just beginning to unearth its own florets, and Fangorn bounded off, sniffing at a nearby pile of brush. Melita merely stared for a few seconds at the view and backdrop around her, imagining her twin roaming around and exclaiming at each new bloom she’d found. Oh, Mel, look at this one! She’d say, and the youth would scramble right next to her sister, not as interested or intrigued as the other girl, but it wouldn’t have mattered, because she loved her dearly –
A tear fell down her cheek and she dashed it away. Fangorn looked up from what he was doing, but she shrugged, laughing a little, until she heard a series of sounds. She tilted her head for a moment, rising slightly from her spot on a massive root, intending to follow the line of melodies. They were small, tiny, minute, but still present and there, like triumphant hums, jubilant decibels, ringing and alluring through the rest of the blissful day. Curiosity made her twist around bark and trunk, until she finally discovered the nature of the noise: a cluster of bees.
Her excitement overflowed, and she itched, she yearned, she craved to burst with enthusiasm. While Clementine had been fascinated with her flowers, Melita had loved the buzzing bees, following them with rapt adoration and inquiry through fields and meadows; pretending to be amidst their brethren, pressing her lips together until she could mimic their sound. She cherished the way they protected their hives, how they arrived to the scene no matter the threat, how they rushed into battle with no thought for themselves, but for their queen, their home, using their one sting before falling in battle. She’d often thought she’d be the same, die the same; and she swallowed down the choking sorrow suddenly clutching her throat. No need to be misty-eyed.
She wanted to join them – but something held her back. Perhaps it was instinct. Perhaps it was the unknown. Perhaps it was everything rolled into one, and she simply wanted to enjoy their singsong presence. But the honeybee girl couldn’t stop herself from merging into their song – her hum aching to match theirs beat for beat, strain for strain, harmony for harmony, as she sat down, chin in her hands, and watched.
Flowerbirth, they called it here. Vervain was born in the spring, and she felt herself renewed with the reappearance of light and colour to the world. Not only that - she had plenty of other reasons to feel energised; one of them would likely make an appearance towards the end of the season or the beginning of LongHeat, if the progression of her pregnancy was anything to go by. She was not the type to wander without purpose, but today she had simply wanted to enjoy the glade and the whisper of the trees, the birdsong, the hum of bees...
In fact, the bees were singing, too. Which was... unusual, to say the least. Vai blinked, peeking around a cluster of young saplings to gaze at the swarm, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Beyond them she spotted a girl watching, Vai carefully picking her way around them until she was within earshot of the stranger. "I have never seen anything like this... Have you?"
Perhaps the girl should’ve been alarmed by an approaching stranger; her instincts were on alert, Fangorn had long since heard the snap of twigs and brambles, boughs pushed aside to make way for another, but her gaze simply flickered over to the incoming woman, then back to the bees, thoroughly enamored.
But then the other one is too, and she was forced to become riveted back upon the latest arrival. She didn’t recognize her, not really, but Melita had always been one who concentrated more on actions instead of faces – she might’ve been there all along, but the child was too distracted, too deterred by everything else in nature, in violence, in vitriol, to pay much attention. The woman was visibly pregnant, belly rounded in an evident, future babe; so the girl smiled, a bright, ebullient grin bounding across her face, friendly and amiable, not afraid or burdened by the notion of ominous upheavals.
“No,” she was forced to admit; an avid observer of bees in her childhood, she’d always hummed at them, near them, beside them, listening to the beat and drone of their wings, following their bounding forms until they returned to their hive, pretending to flutter and weave like them across waves of grass and wild, wondrous meadows; untamed and free. But they’d never constructed their own melodies, sonnets, and songs, never reprised refrain after refrain, and it was lovely, just to hear their mellifluous power. Perhaps all the animals here had more to offer than any other; her gaze shifted to Fangorn for a moment, then back up to the bees, to the stranger, to the strains and arias floating around them, serene, tranquil, a moment of repose. “But they’re wonderful.”
She sighed, then shifted towards the other, rising from her crouch on logs and brush, extending a hand to shake. “I’m Melita.”
Vai couldn't help but smile as she looked upon the girl crouched in the undergrowth and watching the bees. She was reminded of herself in some ways; whilst she had never grown out of her wild nature, it was more tempered than it had been when she was younger.
Enamored by beesong and tucked amid the shrubs and budding flowers, Melita was like something out of a fairytale. "They are," she agreed, giving her hand a firm shake as she rose to her feet.
"Vai," she introduced in return, glancing back out at the swarm as they moved from flower to flower in a rising harmony. "I wonder if they make honey," she said, tilting her head as she considered them. "I imagine it would taste very unique."
The wilderness, just like now, called to her – all her savage qualities, all her untamed minuets, all the timeless pieces of adventure and mayhem beat through her like a bumblebee’s wings. It was never truly locked away; she could be listless on an inhale, then restless and seditious on the exhale, a bristling maelstrom of turbulent emotions and mercurial, tempestuous rhythms. For the moment though, she’s lithe and serene, not disturbed or perturbed by the drone, by the hum of the insects, or the tranquility of Vai. For these scarce seconds, it was peace and repose, not damnation and upheaval, not rebellion and long, eerie nights with no end in sight. She breathed amidst the composure and remembered blossoms, honeysuckle, butterflies swaying with the breeze, emblems and banners of deserts and its Sun God, it’s sun-kissed warmth and tender benedictions. It will all come again, she thought. It can’t always be like this. The worlds couldn’t go on with constant terror and villainy, seditious and unholy, irreverent and vehement; it would devour and consume itself.
They both stood now, handshakes exchanged, no heathen divides, no foaming mouths, no scathing tongues; Melita thought of her mother then, a quick, vivid memory of gentle words and easygoing songs. It went away with the melody of the bees, swift and lost, as they stood beneath brambles and boughs, pondering over the harmonies and mellifluous intricacies of colonies and hives. “Pleased to meet you, Vai,” she smiled and grinned, a beautiful ribbon of truth tucked back into the woods, the copses, the groves, and the glades. The next interval left her wondering though, and a mischievous delight crept into her features – almost impish, nearly devilish, the kind of wink and charm that had left her mother nervous and her sister apprehensive. “We could follow them and find out?”
"Likewise," Vai agreed with an easy smile and half an eye still on the bees. She was intrigued but similarly respectful, and it showed in her wariness. A swarm was still a swarm, and it would likely not welcome their clumsy intrusions into their song or their work. Melita's suggestion, though - to follow them, well - that was hardly in need of consideration. "A wonderful idea," she said, nodding and already picking her careful way through the undergrowth, staying at a distance from the bees so they could get on with their pollination in peace.
"You rarely see them travelling in a cloud like this," she remarked as they began to walk. "I only came out to enjoy the trees, but I'll not turn honey away if we do find some. Not that I would want to begrudge the bees, but maybe they won't mind sharing."
She was eager to move, eager to run, eager to push and shove her way through the undergrowth, a silly little heathen with her wild locks and untamed eyes. But her gaze flickered over to Vervain, clearly with child, and considerations would have to be made, established; no impulsive, sudden motions away, away, away into the thorns and brambles, into monstrous shadows, into calamity and audacious splendor. At the very least, the other woman had agreed to follow the wayward swarm with their light buzzing and pleasant humming, so Melita’s steps were ethereal and airy in their zest, at Vai’s side, and not racing off into the next clearing.
Perhaps the bees sensed their intentions, and began to draw themselves forward, still fixating a melody into the copse, drawing the ragtag youth, her companion, and the healer into their orbit. The mender seemed eager to discuss the colony though, and Melita’s experiences with bees only continued to further her curiosity, her insight, into the difference and ways the hive manifested themselves. “Honey would be heavenly!” She nodded rapidly, in accordance and agreement with finding some stockpiled sweets the insects wouldn’t notice or mind rationing. The youth hummed again too, attempting to match their pitch and tune, Fangorn at her heels, leaping and bounding quietly despite the drenched, dampened soil and withered leaves, then continued musing aloud with her newfound companion. “Maybe this is just a swarm, and they’re attempting to protect their queen.” They kept maneuvering onward, and Melita did the same, not to be outdone or outmatched by flocks of whistles and harmonies. Was their hive nearby, and they’d lucked out? Her eyes darted over patches of collected bees, little, vigilant guards, settled on trees and branches, before the others flickering and flying about.
Vervain knew that restless feeling well; if not for her condition she'd likely be bounding along at Melita's side, ducking and weaving around trees and through undergrowth to try and keep pace with the musical swarm.
Alas, she was forced to be more mellow in her current state, and so it was with a quiet smile and bright eyes that she followed after the bees with her new companion at her side. "It would, wouldn't it?" she agreed about the honey, careful not to get too close to the swarm lest they think they were under attack.
"Ah, yes. Protecting the queen would make sense. Maybe they're trying to find a new place to build a hive?" She grinned at Melita. "I bet if we listen close we can pick out the queen's song from the rest." Obviously she didn't know, but it seemed logical that the queen bee would have a different melody.
The possibility of finding the queen, of her song being different from the rest, was so vastly appealing that the girl actually fell into silence, desperate to hear, clinging to the possibility. She did, however, nod enthusiastically to Vai at the mere prospect, and slid a little closer, feet light and ethereal, airy and composed, not orchestrated in her usual raucous and fervent ebullience. Even Fangorn nestled into the realms of hushed platitudes, though it’d been in his habit to commit to these notions before Melita came into his life; it was how he’d survived.
Melita had persevered and existed on guts, determination, and pretending to be the biggest monster in the dark.
In between the tunes and harmonies, the dulcet whims and the pretty, serene sonnets, the honeybee girl thought she heard an altering note. It wasn’t jarring, but beautiful, tranquil, as if all the other bees orchestrated within its beatific core – the composer, the majesty, the grand opus serenading with the choir. She crept closer again, careful not to disturb, not to press, not to overwhelm or shadow; tilting her head so she could catch and snag the queen’s hums, only twisting back to Vai quickly and pointing where she believed the regal monarch was resting. Were they there to stay then, fixated on gathering amidst the wood, the bark, the boughs? Was this where she’d hold her court, dictate, and ensure the colonies, the hives, grew stronger?
Unable not to smile at Melita's wide eyed wonder, Vai followed closely - though she was not nearly so light or ethereal as she had been before the start of her pregnancy. Cocking an ear, she also seemed to hear the solo within the chorus of the bees, a rising crescendo that hinted at something more, something regal within. As Melita glanced back to her she nodded, creeping closer and peeking up into the boughs of one of the trees that the swarm seemed to be converging around.
"Ah," she whispered, pointing. "There, I think." Up high, the song she'd been convinced she heard chimed clearer, and whilst she could see no queen bee, there was little doubt that they'd come upon her. "Perhaps we ought to leave them to their building?" she suggested. "No honey for us until they get settled, I suppose."
Like a beacon, she followed her line of sight to where Vai pointed, indicating the hidden, but not silent, presence of the aforementioned queen, leading her disciples and courtiers to the promised land. Unfortunately, her newfound friend was right, there’d be nothing for them to claim or snag today. “Too bad,” she uttered, but in reality, she didn’t feel the sentiment; she’d seen, heard, and experienced a new sensation of wonder, and that was nothing to be disappointed about. Honey could wait.
She swung back towards Vai, leaving the bees to their hive-making, to their colonizing, brushing her hands together from the soil, dirt, and brush stuck there. Her gaze flickered back and forth, from the rush of the glade, to the pregnant woman, smile still stuck there, not intending to leave her to her lonesome in the thickened wood. She reeled back to her side with a vibrant hum, intending to portray the bees as effectively as she could, but laughter rang over her and soon the entire farce and pretense subsided, funneling and pervading with ebullient overtures instead. The youth stretched her arms overhead, then reached down and grabbed hold of Fangorn, allowing him to crawl up to her shoulder while her tones bent and molded their way through the boughs and limbs. “What brought you to the glade today?” Perhaps there was something else she intended to do and Melita could help her; the restlessness wove its way into her motions again, begging for some sort of movement, purpose, or motivation.
"Hopefully they stick around through Longheat and Leafchange." Vai smiled to her new acquaintance. "That way there might be honey to be had once they're settled." For now though, it seemed like a good idea to leave the swarm and their queen to tend to their new home, and the witch let out a musical laugh as Melita turned and stepped back to her side, emulating their choral companions as best she could. As Fangorn clambered up to her shoulder, her eyes widened a fraction.
"Is that a gourd, from last Leafchange?" she asked curiously, unable to help herself, before relaxing and glancing around the glade. "Honestly? I just came for a walk. After what happened during LongNight, I feel lucky just to be able to see the sun and feel the breeze on my face... What about you?"
Fangorn was a constant source of curiosity. Melita wasn’t surprised, really, when seasons ago the rest of the world, herself included, had done all they could to eliminate and exterminate the pesky vampire gourds. She’d used some as target practice deluges, as games, as entertainment and diversions, the same as everyone else. Perhaps that made her a hypocrite then, to have once kneeled in front of the pumpkin on her shoulder, proffering meat and hospitality when she’d cruelly diminished his brethren. But he’d been quicker, clever, and wittier than all the rest, capable of hiding and blending into his surroundings while the rest of them were scorched, maimed, or eaten. In a show of faith, atonement, those unsettling convictions often contorted in her mind, she’d taken him under wing, into her shelter, and bonded with the little, fanged demon. Maybe he simply reminded her of herself; lost, wayward, and persistent, enduring every hardship cast their way. Onslaught after onslaught, they persevered. So when Vervain asked, her smile was radiant and obliging again, one hand scratching at the top of the gourd’s head. “Yes! This is Fangorn.” The living vegetable hissed in return, eerie eyes swinging back towards the witch’s stare. “I found him towards the end of the season. He’d been among the few to survive.”
In regards to their motivations though, Melita was about the same. “I was restless,” she shrugged, because a multitude of death and damnation had found its way into their shards during LongNight, and she wasn’t going to proffer anything to relieve it on any of their accounts. The only offer she made at all was to continue their wandering, their meandering, on the thick bed of moss and brambles. “I can keep walking with you, if you’d like.” Perhaps Vai wouldn’t take it, craving to be left on her own, and they could go their separate ways – but Melita appreciated her company, craved more of her insight.
Melita's smile was thoroughly contagious, and even as Fangorn (what an adorable little name for an adorably vicious creature) turned his eerie stare on her, Vai couldn't help but return the grin. "A survivor, huh?" she mused, nodding and folding her arms across her chest and resisting the urge to get any closer to the gourd. Whilst he might be a companion of this vibrant young woman, Vai knew better than to assume friendliness from Fangorn just because Melita was so easy to be around.
The witch couldn't resist a laugh as Melita called herself restless - from the little she had seen of her new companion thus far, she couldn't think of a much more suitable word. Nodding, both in agreement and at the suggestion, she turned to stroll again through the glade. "That sounds nice," she said. "Who knows - perhaps we'll find something even more interesting than bees with beautiful voices!" You could never be certain in this place.
