LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY


♕

Temptation and fear held her in place; neither stepping forward nor going back, locked into position, between shadow and light, darkness and familiarity. The roar of fire, the glimmer of molten red, scattered across the nearby walls nearly undid her – so amused, so impressed, so easily fixated on the pinpricks of movement and sound, she almost didn’t notice the other filly’s approach. Her ears caught the telltale sign of another, but she was too fascinated to give it much thought (not when there was a lure, dangling right before her sights, and would it truly hurt so much, to be eaten and swallowed by a giant? Would her mother and sister be sad? Would she be able to come back out?), so when the other girl is suddenly there, nickering her approach, taller and older, Melita sprang sideways – one curt, swift movement, her only line of defense besides brazen, loud, exuberant squawking. She settled for a snort and widened eyes, taking in the sight of the youth with all of her crimson designs (and maybe she liked fire too, breathed it like dragons, like menacing, malicious, powerful demons – the honeybee child regarded her with almost instant appreciation). But when the stranger said nothing, the babe presumed she was the one to start the conversation, brimming with curiosity, doubts, and the inevitable swing of her exuberance – the apprehension whittled away immediately, short impressions flickering away in the appeal and zest of childhood. “Hi! I’m Melita!” It was a powerful burst of energy, wings extending in one glorious movement, but she had poor control of them, so some feathers and plumage bounced off the side of the cavern walls, and she was forced to get a little closer to the unknown femme. “What’s your name?” She sidled along, talking quickly, mind and body going a mile a minute, entranced and imploring and bursting with enthusiasm, wild and untamed and allowed to be a piece of ember and brimstone.

Then she watched as the older one seemed to encourage her onwards, into the beckoning maw of the catacomb, with its glittering, glimmering, beckoning blades, and she hesitated for the slightest of seconds, mouth a little agape, eyes a little worried. “You’re going in there?” Her teeth fretted on a portion of her lower lip, head tilting, fuzzy, baby forelock whipped along by the tender breeze, pondering if she should join, if she should run, if bravery would win over the unwinding consternation. “What if it eats you?” Melita extended her inquiry, gesturing to the high ceilings, the wide-open crevasse, the shadowy pitches and the Stygian extensions. She would try to save the other girl – truly – but the first concern was if they were to be ground up whole, devoured, consumed by the unknown (had she ever been so fretful over something?), and the other was what she’d miss if she didn’t wander into its midst. Were there more opportunities within the tomb, or outside its walls? Would she lose her freedom over mere enticement, one more bewildered babe shackled and tethered to nothingness? Or would she fail due to fear, caught and chained by her own trepidation? At the last thought, she puffed out her chest, heaved a breath, and took one step forward, sliding a tiny hoof into shadow, but still waited for the answer before fully committing to her newest sojourn; boldness reignited, striving not to wither, to fade, to decay.