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05-20-2017, 07:00 PM
She was horrendously late.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t meant to come, but the rest of the world had been one distraction after another (a system of events starting with several bees buzzing near her head, landing on the last of summer’s petals, and then flying off to their hive, which she had to investigate on principle alone) – and when she was finally there, amidst the great gathering along the church (a mighty temple based on a god of the Sun whom she’d never seen), she stood stock still and rigid.
It was like the herd meeting all over again.
The moving mass was overwhelming, a sweltering flicker of unfamiliar forms and poised muscles, drunken splendor, loud shouting, hooting, hollering, and raucous laughter; but she wanted to join in, enthralled by the zealous energy. She could even make out a few beasts she recognized, like wonderful Iskra and the delightful Pippigrin, but not her sweet sister or her lovely mother, and so she remained there, taut and torn, pondering what to do or where to go, what she was supposed to be doing. The little girl didn’t want to be on the outskirts, always staring in, always meandering her way through the crowd, always uncertain, unsure of what action to take in life; and sure enough, the exuberance, the wild, untamed, savage fractions of her soul took flight, and she achieved movement.
She raced down into the dunes, extending her wings, allowing the wind to flicker through plumes and feathers, laughing as she pretended to dive-bomb into others on her way by, giggling as she attempted to make her way towards Iskra, the Sultana, and a few others standing beside some concoction. “Hi!” Melita shouted above the din, the massive grin hiding over her prior insecurities, until she was a blur, a stir, a brewing cauldron of curiosity and intrigue, attempting to forgo all the apprehension. “What’s this?” She indicated towards the liquor, eyes drawn to it because everyone else seemed to find it great and awesome (and the sweet smell reminded her of little Clementine, earnest and bright), and the youth didn’t want to let another opportunity pass her by. “Can I have some?”
It wasn’t that she hadn’t meant to come, but the rest of the world had been one distraction after another (a system of events starting with several bees buzzing near her head, landing on the last of summer’s petals, and then flying off to their hive, which she had to investigate on principle alone) – and when she was finally there, amidst the great gathering along the church (a mighty temple based on a god of the Sun whom she’d never seen), she stood stock still and rigid.
It was like the herd meeting all over again.
The moving mass was overwhelming, a sweltering flicker of unfamiliar forms and poised muscles, drunken splendor, loud shouting, hooting, hollering, and raucous laughter; but she wanted to join in, enthralled by the zealous energy. She could even make out a few beasts she recognized, like wonderful Iskra and the delightful Pippigrin, but not her sweet sister or her lovely mother, and so she remained there, taut and torn, pondering what to do or where to go, what she was supposed to be doing. The little girl didn’t want to be on the outskirts, always staring in, always meandering her way through the crowd, always uncertain, unsure of what action to take in life; and sure enough, the exuberance, the wild, untamed, savage fractions of her soul took flight, and she achieved movement.
She raced down into the dunes, extending her wings, allowing the wind to flicker through plumes and feathers, laughing as she pretended to dive-bomb into others on her way by, giggling as she attempted to make her way towards Iskra, the Sultana, and a few others standing beside some concoction. “Hi!” Melita shouted above the din, the massive grin hiding over her prior insecurities, until she was a blur, a stir, a brewing cauldron of curiosity and intrigue, attempting to forgo all the apprehension. “What’s this?” She indicated towards the liquor, eyes drawn to it because everyone else seemed to find it great and awesome (and the sweet smell reminded her of little Clementine, earnest and bright), and the youth didn’t want to let another opportunity pass her by. “Can I have some?”
Melita
let me live that fantasy
[very late. D:] @Iskra and whoever else is nearby
