LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY


♕

Her sister had all the answers, and in response, Melita stared at the world around her again, alive and full of color, full of wings, full of hues, bright, poignant crescendos, light, airy music of the realm that made her feel ignited and resplendent. “Oh!” She offered in soft reply, as if the whole meaning for their outing would be butterflies and soft, beautiful fields of sprawling meadows, lush greenery, and the little child watched her sibling amidst the fluttering insects and the billowing palisade – smiling, dulcet, content. For a few moments, she was still and quiet, contemplative, gazing over the wild kingdom, the vicious empire, and all of its offerings, basking in the warm glow of her family, of her excitement, heart finally taking its time to consider what life had bestowed, granted, and given to her – but then her eyes chanced upon A’mal in the distance, a white herald settling near her mother, and the savage levels of curiosity sunk into her again.

She followed the lines of his wings, the subtle turning and twisting of his draconic head, and then she eyed her dam as the gilded mare stared into the sky – something, some beast massive and large came from the clouds, the horizon, the swirls of heavens and bliss, and the girl couldn’t help her interest, her inquiries. The questions instantly soaring through her mind nearly burned along her throat, ablaze and on fire, but something held her astray, a strange level of patience and awe, as she slowly, carefully, tread closer and closer to the stranger greeting her blessed, golden mother. She forgot about bees and butterflies, she forgot about chasing after the sun, she forgot about exploring the length of the meadow. Instead, she witnessed, eyes and nares wide, occupied and entranced, tempted and spellbound. The little child didn’t catch their conversation, only the movements, the motions, of the humongous beast; glancing over his wings, the strands and patterns of the feathers (like mine, she thought, and she smiled for no other reason except it was nice to match someone else when her twin and dam had no plumage – even though she’d never asked why), until he tucked them away. She looked upon the great ivory skull he bore, impressed with its stature, with the intriguing sable markings running down the length of his eyes, pondered if he was hot in that thick, rugged coat. When she found her examination, her scrutiny, thorough and meticulous, she inclined further into their shared space, thought nothing of their whispering, of the quiet, hushed way her Najya spoke (almost rigid, commanding, demanding, and she’d never heard her utter such tones before – layered in a sudden ferocity, and the little girl liked it, to see her family so bold).

“Hello!” She bounded near the unfamiliar stallion, completely unaware that there shouldn’t have been anything unfamiliar about him in the slightest – because they shared blood, they shared heritage, they shared tones, shades, pigments, and species. He was a portion of their reason for existing at all, but youth and ignorance held these sentiments, notions, and conundrums at bay, unfolding in an eager, fervent smile, ready to make acquaintance with someone new, someone intriguing, the way she’d done amidst the Throat and its wide variety of children. “I’m Melita!” She proffered, delightful grin in place, scorching with energy, with a drum, with a drone, a hum, buzzing along her figure, joyful, emblazoned with foretold glory and whimsical, tempestuous rhythms. “Who are you?” Then, once she started talking, her mouth failed to close and her tongue didn’t bother yielding, rolling along in its usual, passionate zeal, spiraling on the brink of defiance and unruly composure. “Do you live here?” Her head inclined, tilted, wings spread out in excitement, as if she’d forgotten about their existence and they merely responded to the flow of her blood, the ardor in her veins. “Do you like butterflies? My sister likes butterflies, but I think bees are better.” The last words echoed on a hardly-convincing whisper, as if they were embroiled in specious secrets Clementine could not be allowed to hear; for Melita was not one to betray sacred bonds.