Green Labyrinth
08-03-2017, 11:23 PM
It seemed to be just the same in her youthful mind. The false-God praised them, commended them, but it was forced, it was apprehensive, it was alarming, made her chest tie up in knots, made her heart pound with a ferocious fury. Perhaps it was anger, unchecked rage, a brewing, brooding force she’d yet to claim – reverently gentle, curious, and a bit loud in her upbringing, but never so callous, never so angry at the world. A portion of her knew it grew from fright, from alarm, from the possibility of her mother being another one of his victims (and she hadn’t seen anything, hadn’t been able to help, shoved into the abyss before she could scream for her dam) – and more from something else she could not quite name (was it hatred, though? Had she learned of contempt, of loathing, of despair?).
She didn’t bound now – didn’t relax, didn’t bounce, didn’t yield to her flights of fancy or whimsy. There was no point to that in this moment, in this occasion, when everyone clamored, growled, jeered, or cheered. She stood in the shadows for a few scarce moments, Sila nested in her wings, taking the opportunity the large crowd presented in looking for her mother – the familiar edges of gold, the tips of white dragon wings. More than once she tried to raise herself on lumps or logs, unsteady brush, but the maze and contortion of features, faces, made it nearly impossible. The little honeybee girl had to smother that ferocity down too, because the frustration was unending, seemingly eternal, asking her to break.
Not yet though – she fought against the vexation, the tears, and strived towards those in the gathering she did know, for protection, for guidance, for something other than standing on the outskirts, hoping for another to gallop into the wings and grant her the comfort, the serenity, she so desperately craved. Melita was tough, she was strong, and she was determined – no one was going to see her crumble, and as she dashed towards them, the gathering of Iskra, of Pippigrin, of Otem, sweet, familiar figures she’d come to cherish, the little girl tried her best small, tiny, insignificant smile, as if she were not splintering with the rest of them. “You’re all okay,” she breathed with a sigh of relief, stare turning to each of their frames and figures, recalling days where they hadn’t been worried, hadn’t been concerned, hadn’t been doing anything but playing amidst the sands.
Those moments were long gone.
She didn’t bound now – didn’t relax, didn’t bounce, didn’t yield to her flights of fancy or whimsy. There was no point to that in this moment, in this occasion, when everyone clamored, growled, jeered, or cheered. She stood in the shadows for a few scarce moments, Sila nested in her wings, taking the opportunity the large crowd presented in looking for her mother – the familiar edges of gold, the tips of white dragon wings. More than once she tried to raise herself on lumps or logs, unsteady brush, but the maze and contortion of features, faces, made it nearly impossible. The little honeybee girl had to smother that ferocity down too, because the frustration was unending, seemingly eternal, asking her to break.
Not yet though – she fought against the vexation, the tears, and strived towards those in the gathering she did know, for protection, for guidance, for something other than standing on the outskirts, hoping for another to gallop into the wings and grant her the comfort, the serenity, she so desperately craved. Melita was tough, she was strong, and she was determined – no one was going to see her crumble, and as she dashed towards them, the gathering of Iskra, of Pippigrin, of Otem, sweet, familiar figures she’d come to cherish, the little girl tried her best small, tiny, insignificant smile, as if she were not splintering with the rest of them. “You’re all okay,” she breathed with a sigh of relief, stare turning to each of their frames and figures, recalling days where they hadn’t been worried, hadn’t been concerned, hadn’t been doing anything but playing amidst the sands.
Those moments were long gone.
Melita
let me live that fantasy
@Iskra @Pippigrin @Otem
