LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY


♕

She was enraptured - an easy emotion to come by for the little spit of a child – by the soft, bright colors, by the illustrious, spoken word of magic, and she instantly wanted to know all about its forms, its grace, its poise and potential, mind spiraling a mile a minute. Perhaps, due to her youth, she didn’t feel ignorant, unschooled, or benighted, but simply entranced by the knowledge coiling within her, a steady membrane soaking in all the details, all the inquiries. She wanted these spells and incantations too, to peel away her outer layer and reveal wondrous hues, or to speak into the rhythm of the sea, alter a charge of monsters upon an available target; so she only paused for a few painstaking instances, allowing the information to flow through her, to embrace her, to embody her, before launching a thousand questions. “How do you get magic?” The first spoken from her mouth was undoubtedly the most important, and then the others trickled through, in reverence, in speculation, in absolute radiance, curled from her excitement, her enthusiasm, her splendor for life – the grandest smile poised across her features, not yet poisoned or flattened by the measures of events or circumstances. “Does everyone have it? Can I change color like you?” The youth glanced at her frame, merely checking to see if her flesh had changed in the time she’d been settled in the oasis (it was disappointing to see they were the same legions of brown), then swerved her skull quickly to the other femme, Vezer. “Can you do magic?” The babe wanted to see more and more and more, absorb it into her memory, into her wiles, into her wishes, hopes, and dreams; wondering if those spider webs reached out to others and entrapped them (which would be wicked).

Melita, too fresh, too new, didn’t even think about the chances of anyone being bothered, ruffled, or perturbed by her ardor, fervor, or passion, the world had always been kind to her (she’d been born after Kaos’ uprising, knew naught except to enjoy, to relish, to taste and savor each flavor, each second). The inquiries, the interest, simply seemed to embrace her in an artful nuance of verve and spirit, until she felt she was going to come apart the seams, too excited, legs and wings splashing against the water. “What are those? Can they fly?” She wanted to fly, she wanted to lift into the air and stay there forever – but it meant leaving Clementine and mother behind, because neither of them had feathers – but the titles of kelpie and siren seemed exotic, and she’d never seen their ilk around. Her eyes studied Syrena again, too distracted by her appearance to even note the companion’s constant alterations, but didn’t see any wings, any plumage, any means to coast and sail into the void. Perhaps Syrena had more enigmas and sorcery within her, charmed, anointed, and consecrated beyond the girl’s wildest dreams – she wanted them too, all of it.