There was naught but the sound of sparks and electricity beating, surging, thudding, and drumming through her ears, through her frame, through her soul; and it stung and sang to her all at once, like a vivid dream she’d had once upon a time, or a perfect illusion cast by mirrors and enchantments. She couldn’t pull away from the distortion, from the madness, pressing closer and closer until she was enshrouded in the menagerie, in the chaos, in the discordance. Her eyes widened, taking in each and every crack, every tremor, every great, brilliant gesture from whatever happened to be fighting its way to the light, and she nearly erupted into bliss, into euphoria, trying to cheer it on through silence and awe.

Someone else approached, unfamiliar, another stranger from a world of unfamiliarity, and the honeybee child grinned, caught in the flames and waiting for someone else to join her. Maybe it fell from the sky, the other filly said, and in her strange haze, daze, and trance, Melita finally glanced towards the heavens, the fading clouds that had echoed and blistered and corrupted mere moments ago, dropping rain and power down to earth (and she wondered if this was it too – a representation of their might and dominion, of their supremacy amidst living, breathing beings). “Maybe!” She chirped, as if she couldn’t give it any more thought or reflection, heart racing, body humming, built into the foundation of this scintillating crescendo, spirit lifted, essence fulfilled, reaching out, almost touching the crackling orb, almost stunned and burned by its thundering, jarring motions. She heard the girl whisper oh no, but there didn’t seem to be anything wrong at all – just an influence of dominion and wonder, and she let herself be led further into the embers, into the coals, into the rush -

Then there was Clementine, all sweet smells and connections, another half to her whole, and she released a tiny breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, bumping her maw into her twin’s shoulder in return. “Hatching,” was her first murmur, gaze falling back to the fissures, fractures, and ruptures growing wider, bigger, splitting apart the precious electrical trilling. Truthfully, she had no idea what the creature encased within was going to be – intrigued again, pondering over their mother’s beautiful white dragon (trustworthy, protective A’mal) – or even if this was to be hers, granted by storms and fortune.

Everything seemed to erupt immediately after – her mind was carved into two spinning facets, layered and lacquered by a chiseled, clutching hum – because the shell finally broke apart, one last piece flickering to the soil, and there, in the midst of it all was an incandescent little thing. It squawked, golden and bright, like a blinding glimpse of lightning, of sparks in the sky, of flares, glimmers, and vestiges – wet feathers and glinting edges. Melita tilted her head, and they stared at one another, completely, utterly entranced. “This doesn’t look like a dragon,” the child finally said – confused, befuddled, and suddenly fulfilled.

Melita

let me live that fantasy