to be lit up from within
vein by vein
Beautiful, while truthful, didn’t signify or snare at the answers Melita craved. The slightest of frowns immersed itself along her mouth, a twist and turn of a sigh, the unknown still basking and billowing before them. But she listened to the other words flowing thereafter, tilting her head a fraction, a fragment, and nodding at understanding, in comprehension. Perhaps it was the work of a god, a herald, brushstrokes on canvas, a moment of artistic venue, and then left to its own devices. After all, how many times had she experienced it in Helovia: awe-inspiring heights, enigmatic caves, glasswork for noses to press against and stare upon the world below? “Maybe we would too,” she offered, the uncertainty still there, but less pressed for a suitable response. She could take this one. “I don’t know anything about a forge-god though,” and the youth laughed, another effervescent thing unwinding across the colors. Were there a deity blessed by rivers of fire, she’d set her faith and credence within the embers and brimstone.
to be the sun
MELITA
