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.

LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY


♕

She made no other movement except the twitching of her ears, the widening of her nares, of her eyes, as the other girl finally spoke (I’ve been down before), lips eventually crinkling into an eager smile, a trace of all her boldness coming back to life. If the older femme had lived through her journey into the abyss, Melita could too – and this, amidst the beckoning, whirling promises of cool things, was enough to overcome and overwhelm the apprehension coiled amidst her youthful, gangly frame. “Like what?” The only question she asked – gasping, mouth forming a narrow o, her voice laden with the awe, with the inspiration, with the reverence known to most children, so intrigued, so curious, so spellbound by the endless possibilities of the unknown. She didn’t question where the other femme came from, if she was part of the sands and sun too, she didn’t inquire about the laws and lay of the land, nor she did place any consternation in their safety, if she should trust, if she should bend to the musings of another. Her eyes were riveted away from Vastra, torn back into the shambles of darkness, into the brewing, brooding shadows, into the nearly tangible streaks of red and gold. She wanted to know, to understand, what was down there, what caused the hot colors, the shadows, the invocations, and what the dun girl had seen. It was a sort of greedy prospect driven through her heart, her mind, her soul, but Vastra had offered, and she likely wouldn’t do it on her own, not without a guide into the maze of halls and embers, not without a way to escape should terror find them (and while she’d never witnessed or been immersed into these treacherous ways, she’d heard enough stories along the horizon, through grapevines, to be wary of oncoming storms and mayhem). Coaxed and persuaded, inveigled and charmed, the honeybee child nodded her head, setting her jaw in a tight line, her chest puffed out once again, her legs taking one, two, three more steps, before turning back to ensure the other was coming, was ready, was fervent, to lead the way. “Okay!” Show me was in her eyes, a touch of defiance, a hint of rebellion, a modicum of reservations drawn away and leaving only youthful audacity and ease; the way most creatures came into the world before something shaped, shifted, or sharpened them.

LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY


♕

The filly’s mind whirled at an alarming clip – fractious and unending, yielding to nothing but vast images and curiosity brimming, brewing, ricocheting along the intervals of her heart and mind. Vastra’s details of her prior escapades were just enough to spark the rise of her indulgence (trees with leaves the color of the ocean, glowing mushrooms, birds more stark, more brilliant, paler than the clouds), but most intriguing was the wall of fire. She bristled almost immediately, a spark, an ignition of movement and sound, chipper and resplendent. “Wow!” She shuddered with excitement, following her down into the shadows, into the depths, into the wide, open, gaping maw that didn’t swallow, didn’t consume, and didn’t send her down into the rumored denizens of the underworld.

If Vastra thought the little thing was going to be bored, she was about to be surprised.

Because no sooner had she seen the fire wall, with flickers of bright, blistering crimson and orange canvas, a tapestry of inexplicable embers, did she rampage towards it, a seething torrent of movement and motion, gesturing to it with immense appeal and satisfaction, ablaze, enlivened, enraptured just by the shifting shapes, by the haunting portraits, by the sensation of promised embers. “Whoa!” She shouted, barely paying attention to the ridiculous echoes of her yells, glancing back and forth from Vastra to the wall, completely enamored by the shred of colors and lights, the reeling majesty, the glimpse of danger and fervor. “This is sooooo cool!” She leaped and bounded further down the cavern panel, touching her soft maw to the surface, hoping some of the hues would shimmer on her frame too, and she could be touched by fire, by fury, by might. The inquiry was eternal, because her mind processed the nuances, the potency, the lethality and vibrancy of it all – but not the whys and hows, the complexities of its existence, of its enthrallment. So little Melita’s head turned and twisted right back to Vastra’s all-knowing figure (because she’d seen it all before, and she must have understood everything about everything). “How does it do this?”