we've cracked the code

The honeybee girl was caught and enticed by unspoken snares, and she brewed in its cauldron of enigmas and silence, because she should’ve feared the unknown. Apprehension should’ve been there, curled and coiled in her barrel, twisting through her veins, collecting in her sentiments. It had been there in her more fragile, feeble days, when the world was so much more confusing, unreal, intangible pockets of gaping maws and grandiose mouths (then death; so much death, so many figures never returning). She’d learned in her brief time amidst the pillars of destruction and ruin, how to thrive, how to play, how to unfurl her wings and cascade across realms and empires, explored, sojourned, absorbed, and now the only thing residing seemed to be a brilliant wonder (her mother was within too – visions of kindness and brilliant, beautiful gold and ivory wings) poised and aloft, fluttering on her heart. Curiosity fed into her soul, tied her up in knots until all she could do was feast her eyes on the wide world in front of her, and despite its lack of draconic sand or tumbling dunes, there was enough to keep her steadily occupied. It spurred her on, contorted, smothered, and seized, until the only thing she felt she could do was run, dash across the wind, soar into the soulless piers and the endless haze; pondering when the fog would lift, when rapture would be restored (what was out there?) The boldness, the audacity, the wild, savage temperament once infused and embodied through her core came spilling out in quick, subtle movements – she’d peek from a cluster of bushes, spy past the leaves, the bulrushes, the reeds, then slide out into the open. Sila would follow suit, sparking and rushing, and together they were a force of youthful energy and zest, an ardency fueled by inquiry and freedom. She had no notions, no ideas, of what the realm had to offer, but if she never ventured into its depths, then there’d truly be nothing, and she simply couldn’t exist in such a void.
 
Her chosen setting reminded her greatly of the Dragon’s Throat – likely why she’d come, entranced by the promises of something she used to know, used to embody, used to crave – with its sweeping layers of sand and silt. But while the Throat’s oasis had an ending, spilling out into more land, more rubble, more rocks, this seemed incredibly everlasting – incandescent, beautiful, and the pair drifted on the shoreline, basking in the newness, in the foreign entities, in the sounds of wildlife basking along the trees, and the sweet smelling fruits wafting from the jungle. Instead of diverting into the beckoning copses and groves, because Sila kept sending her alarming messages of danger, and Melita could fathom that notion; she’d sensed too much before, they wandered along the beach, breathing in the sea air. Swiftly, born from impulse and compulsions, whimsical desires never buried farther than her heart, the girl dove into the water and splashed, loud, a fractious memory of days where she’d become a monster from the fathoms below – teasing, silly, hours she craved that were merely lost by the hands of time, by the sweeping of fate. Sila, all bird and electricity, chose a rock to settle upon in the heat of the day, streamlined to enjoy the warmth on her gilded feathers; but Melita was an arch of cascading droplets and flying hooves, extended wings drumming against the current, ridiculous and amused.

Melita

diamond in the flesh

art | codes
@Anuya