Celestial

There was a glint of gold between the forested green. Quick as a lark, it vanished, leaving behind nothing more than matted shades of green and brown. Melia’s eyes darted back and forth through the open window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the whispered gold wonder. The woods were known for monotonous colours, the browns mixing with the greens mixing with the blacks until the only colour was the earth. And the earth of the forest is so vast that no map nor memory can delineate each corner that twists and turns within. The forest is no place for merriment, has no beguiling call that nature is well known for.

But gold, gold is not earthy, it is celestial. 

Plucked from the edge of stars, gold is steeped in joyous delight. Melia had only ever seen flecks of gold streaking across the sky' a streamer of rocks hurtling through the air before exploding in a haze celestial fire and earth. She had seen it from the roof of their house, sparks flying in a dozen directions until ending in soothing embers and smoke. Her father let her take a drag from his cigarette that night, asking her to close her eyes and imagine it was the sky's fire filling her lungs.

‘The celestial gold always meets its fate on the earth,’ He would say, "It seems out of reach, but the sky too is mundane in time."

As always, the golden allure of the sky remained out of reach, piercing the nightly veil less than the blue moon. But Melia would never miss it, twirling a lit papered cigarette between rough dirt-soaked fingers while gazing upon a darkened sky from the rooftop. Lavender-scented smoke puffing from her lips as she waited for sparks to fly.

Again, before her hazel eyes, streaks of gold flaring through the brush, as stark as night from day.

Before she could watch it disappear she was out the door, heading into the far forest with a hope and a lantern.

Of course, by and by, the gold disappeared but closer to the leafy brush, Melia could see the remnants, gold flakes glazed upon the leaves like streaks of butter. Closer, she walked, outstretching a finger to brush against the celestial fragments on earth. Moments later, a silent pluck of a golden harpsichord echoed between the trees, before disappearing like a whisper. It coiled around her, a viper with dripping fangs, forcing her to push past the earthy-toned trees, deeper and deeper and darker, where she had been told never to go.

But the leaves caressed her cheeks instead of cut them, the ground was soft underneath her calloused toes, instead of littered with pine needles. And the sound, oh the sound, the sweet silent harpsichord beckoning her further still helping her lift her feet, one after another, into darker depths. Melia’s light hung close to her body, lighting only the path ahead of her, allowing her to see hints gold against branches and trunks under the thick canopy. It led her forward to the growing plucks of the harpsichord. Softer, then louder, then softer once again, the plucks turn to music, reverbing not in her ears, but in the bones of her body. It swept through her, bruising her soft skin from the inside, deepening the ache rising within her.

A few minutes or a few hours passed before Melia stumbling through a thicket into a clearing, lush, filled with grass and the setting sun. The gold disappeared from the leaves moments before the sun sheared the trees, dripping the branches in gold and jewels.

The clearing was anything but green, people twirling in sheaves of colours, highlights of gold pressed against their cheekbones, hair curled in elaborate twists atop fairy-tale faces. They twisted away at her tentative steps forward, bodies twirling close but never touching, the heady scent of wine and musk pricking the back of her nose. Beyond all, the music, the laughter, the sweaty curls dripping down foreheads, was a gold and white carousel.

It sat in the middle of the clearing, dancers twirling around it like a beacon. The twanging music emanated from the center, beckoning Melia closer and closer until she placed one bare foot on the shining white floor. Animals of all shapes and colours stared at her on the dais, eyes following her own as she stepped between, her light doing little more than casting shadows not of the setting sun. Melia held her breath as she passed by rainbow horses, kaleidoscopic rhinos and technicolour animals of all types. The music had grown softer, singing to her instead of vibrating within her.

Then as she looked to the side, a hand.

Startled Melia stopped, staring at a man masked from forehead to cheekbones in intricate loops and swirls. His extended hand was gloved, silver and black. Behind the mask, she saw him blink.

“Welcome to my home,” He said with a slight bow, his voice almost as melodic as the music creating the background.

Melia held the lantern to his mask, flickering shadows against his snow-white hair now that the sun lay beneath the earth. She could see a ghost of a smile across his lips.

“Who are you?” She asked, her heart starting to beat in rhythm, with a slow but rising bass beneath her feet.

He tilted his head, almost inquisitively, “Oh, you don’t recognize me?” Reaching forward he gently pulled the lamp from her hand and shook it. The fire sucked itself out, plunging the two of them into pitch-purple. The darkness lit up his mark, the silver spiraling outwards into a lustrous gold.

“You’ve watched for me every night,” He said, his voice dipping low, “So to show you my thanks, I wanted to bring you to my home.” He placed the lamp on the floor and a cigarette appeared between his fingers, twirling innocently.

With grace befitting the stars he put the cigarette against Melia’s mouth before stooping down to press his lips against the opposing end. As if dry kindling, the cigarette caught fire. Streaks of ambrosia and fire filled Melia’s lungs. She breathed in, completing her nightly ritual in a way she had only dreamed.  

He stepped back and pulled the cigarette from Melia’s lips. His own lips glistened with gold ichor, “You have met celestial gold, dear daughter of earth,” He whispered, “It’s time I met my fate.”