Help!

Had she been deprived of Clementine, Melita wasn’t sure if she’d be able to survive. Her sister’s voice was a balm, a soothing edge to the storm building inside her little figure, and she breathed easily, exhaled in a pressing sigh, as the blossoms offered her comfort instead of scorn. She wanted to say she’d do everything in her power to ensure their safety, to find, discover, and hope for the best, but the words died in her throat – she had no way to pulling it off, of expanding on promises and declarations. The world was too vast, too unknown, too everything, and the honeybee girl was torn between sliding emotions and plunging airs. She yearned for so many things at once and none of them were happening, none of them were spiraling, none of them came to fruition – it would take all of her efforts to see them through. “I couldn’t do this without you,” she whispered, eyes taking in her sister’s beautiful, gentle form and committing it to more than memory, proffering every ounce of veracity, of truth, in that singular sentence. She nodded her assent to the other questions surrounding the flowers, the petals, the pearls - determination carving its way through her heart, through her barrel, through her wings. They could ask the others they came across, they could explore, they could do a thousand other things to ensure their mother had made it to this plain too. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to believe, there were any other options (she was here, somewhere).

The stranger had a peculiar accent Melita had yet to ever hear before, attention deviating to sorting out the syllables and dialects, tilting her head in intense curiosity and scrutiny – wishing she’d known her before (in Helovia), because then she’d feel safer, she’d be trusting, she’d be more than a simple child thrust into chaos and anarchy. Clementine took over introductions, another reason to feel grateful, because Melita wasn’t sure who to confide or believe in, punctured by the deceitful whims of a false-God. “I’m Melita,” she declared, puffing out her wings, her feathers, so they looked larger, a bit intimidating in the face of the unknown; protective of one of the few things she had left in the world.

When her twin craved safety, shelter, a port in the storm (and the stalwart girl wondered just the same - how were they going to find it when they didn’t even know where they were?), she obliged her with a little grin, a tiny indent of a smile, attempting to smother the discomfort, the apprehension, sliding its way through her soul. “Let’s find somewhere close by, in case mother comes looking for us.” Her words were full of hope and aspirations, unaware of how quickly they could be shorn in the upcoming upheavals, the intangible threads of sedition, no splendor, no direction, no escape. Then, for a snippet of time, she stared back at the other mare, willing to help them, but lost just the same. “You can come too, if you’d like?”

Thereafter, she turned into the fog, into the abyss, carrying her head high and her eyes wide; already immersed in the threads of the void.

Melita

the fires found a home in me

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@Yael @Clementine