LET ME LIVE THAT FANTASY


♕

The little honeybee girl didn’t tell her friend that she’d never been this far west, never dreamed of an endless ocean building its bright, beautiful crescendos around them. She’d been lured easily, tempted with adventure, bewitched, bewildered, spun by the hands of curiosity and the flickers of innocence, because she didn’t know what it was like to feel peril, to sense its overwhelming presence, its treacherous glow. They’d been born after Kaos’s conniving mayhem, hadn’t touched over his lands, hadn’t been scorched by his dastardly schemes – didn’t even know who he was, truly, mystified by constant declarations made by her homeland, by her monarchs, by her sovereigns. So she was willing in each and every right to be swayed and swept away, entangled in the silliness, in the joy, in the exuberance of youth, ambling beside Iskra and his whale tales, still only a child of the dunes, so inexperienced with what the rest of the world had to offer, had to endure. Her heart was filled with song, dance, and ferocity, a blistering twist and turn of wildness, of savagery, yet to turn into anything dastardly or wicked – her smiled blossomed under the reign of sun, under the fortitude and sagacity Iskra bestowed. “They sound awesome!” She uttered, declared, diligent in speculations and wonder, a bit breathless, chasing after clouds, dunes, and endless sun-kissed melees, laughing, inspired by the reaches, by the infinite possibilities stretched before them – until the gulls cried around her, and she was drawn to silence, to study, to stare, at the perfected glide of their wings, to widen her nares, to inhale the salty air.

The girl had barely heard his challenge, too enamored with speculation, with reverence for the great, grand view around her. She’d danced in their oasis, had dove beneath its surface, but she’d never seen anything like this – and it almost made her eyes hurt with its beauty, with its finesse, with its shiny, wondrous exterior. But she couldn’t be taken with it for too long, not when he’d dared, provoked, and incited, and despite having no chance at all, she raced into the sands too, dug into its dirt, pretended it didn’t tire, didn’t fatigue, her gangly legs. “I’ll get you!” She chased, she reveled, she laughed, believing him to be the newest sage, a keeper of wisdom and keys and delights, following after his form because he was older, wiser brethren, a brother of the dragon realm, blindly tied to his antics, to his ventures, to the promised exploits and escapades. Melita bounced and danced, pounced and serenaded, but only caught up to him when he’d slowed, trying to avoid the spray of dust and dirt, restless, taut, an ebullient fixture of buoyancy melting into the horizon.

“What is this place?” The youth asked, all smiles and toothy grins, gesturing towards the hollowed portion of some strange underwater viewing pavilion, and she could only understand its exploratory depths because she’d sunk beneath their oasis in a foolish moment – had seen beautiful fathoms, but never anything like this. “Did someone make it?” Her queries were nonstop, and her frame was the same, lightly waltzing over the woven tapestry of glass and veneer, completely, wholly captivated, fascinated, and delighted. She gave no hint of apprehension towards the great maw, the wide, intriguing crevasse like she’d done amidst the Heart Caves, partly because she believed nothing could go wrong if she was with Iskra, and curiosity had boiled and brewed over any other concerns – eyes wide, big, bold, vivid. “Oooh, I want to find one!” She pressed her face against the glass, stared into the luminescent blue, and waited, hoped it’d be enough to summon the mythical, giant creatures.