Rainforest Cliffs
07-29-2017, 12:32 AM
She liked to believe it was her sister’s presence pulling her there, down into the throes of Kaos and his eldritch abomination – but the steady intoxication, the tempting force, layered amidst the trinket of the Rift Gods urged her onward, a bellowing, enticing minstrel, and like so many other times before, she paid it credence. The honeybee child followed, a steady stream of movement and motion, swallowing the desperation, the apprehension, the trepidation bobbing over the length of her soul, for she recalled the last occasion with vile vitriol (she’d watched, she’d witnessed, and been utterly incapable of doing anything worthwhile except being plunged into the abyss, here, where they all crept, crawled, and quivered). His voice was a poignant, haunting condemnation, and she tried not to freeze in place when she heard it proclaim their next actions (and how she dearly loved to learn, and how she hated hearing it slip from his mouth, as if he stained the pure nature of knowledge and education, as if he enjoyed the lengths of their ignorance).
She would though. She sometimes could only do that, stare and grow and fan the flames of her rebellion. Sila chirped in agreement; and they were one – sparks and promises of days to come.
Melita’s eyes focused on the crowd, on their reactions, pondering what she was supposed to be doing. Bobbing her head in agreement (no)? Bowing and groveling at his feet (never)? Spurning the very fiber of his essence (done and done)? Her stare picked up remnants of those beasts she could call friends and kin (Iskra, with Otem, with Volterra), but every ounce of her being was drawn specifically to her twin, yielding with a vibrant contortion of unsung power and absolution, coiling herself directly at Clementine’s side. She still didn’t see her mother. She still didn’t see Geen. But bravery came from within, and not the anointing of so many others souls around her (however, she still wanted them, still craved their presence, because they were strong and mighty, because every little girl wanted their mother or a guardian to shield them from the upcoming storm) – and she leaned into her sister’s shoulder, breathed endurance and fortitude, assured, pledged, and proclaimed. “It’ll be okay, Clem,” she ensured, a whisper in the other girl’s ear, hoping to stop the trembling, the panic, the unease and misgivings curling through both of their beings; praying it’d be enough (she’d be enough).
She would though. She sometimes could only do that, stare and grow and fan the flames of her rebellion. Sila chirped in agreement; and they were one – sparks and promises of days to come.
Melita’s eyes focused on the crowd, on their reactions, pondering what she was supposed to be doing. Bobbing her head in agreement (no)? Bowing and groveling at his feet (never)? Spurning the very fiber of his essence (done and done)? Her stare picked up remnants of those beasts she could call friends and kin (Iskra, with Otem, with Volterra), but every ounce of her being was drawn specifically to her twin, yielding with a vibrant contortion of unsung power and absolution, coiling herself directly at Clementine’s side. She still didn’t see her mother. She still didn’t see Geen. But bravery came from within, and not the anointing of so many others souls around her (however, she still wanted them, still craved their presence, because they were strong and mighty, because every little girl wanted their mother or a guardian to shield them from the upcoming storm) – and she leaned into her sister’s shoulder, breathed endurance and fortitude, assured, pledged, and proclaimed. “It’ll be okay, Clem,” she ensured, a whisper in the other girl’s ear, hoping to stop the trembling, the panic, the unease and misgivings curling through both of their beings; praying it’d be enough (she’d be enough).
Melita
the fires found a home in me
@Clementine
