Melisande Meadowshine

Soft as Silk

Yesterday had been an absolute disaster. Bringing three six-year-old girls and a toddler boy to an egg hunt in Falconwing Square had been an idiotic idea, Melisande acknowledged. The cranky, tired tears of her charges and chocolate smears all over her person had been proof.

The youngest of the Heart of the Raven's wards had other ideas, however. “Oh Miss Melisande, can we go again? Please pleeeeease? It's the most fun I've ever had.”

They were in the newly-rejiggered bunk room where the children stayed now. All the others had flown off to their respective favorite places: the eldest to Naz’s smithy, the twins to Shade's house, the middle boy down to the kitchens to assist Mao, who could be relied upon for coppers, kindness, and cookies.

Melisande smirked, bemused. “Khida,” she replied, pulling a silver comb gently through the girl's champagne-colored locks. “You fell and scraped your shin on the fountain! And then you told me Ari got more chocolate than you and that you hated all of us.”

Khida shrugged her tiny, pale shoulders, entirely unconcerned. “I liked it.”

Melisande continued on in silence, carefully parting the girl's hair right down the middle. She set one half of the parted hair over the girl’s shoulder, out of the way, and separated the other half into three equal sections. Or equal enough, anyhow. “I have a new word for you today,” the young woman said, slowly weaving the hair into a tight braid. “Tempestuous.”

“Tem-pest-yooou-us,” Khida repeated, trying it out on her own tongue. “What's it mean?”

“It means stormy, but usually...stormy feelings inside you.”

Khida gave a thoughtful grunt. “Like me yesterday.”

“Yes,” Meli replied simply.

“Is it bad? To be tempestuous?”

“It isn't good or bad, sweet one. It's just a thing we feel sometimes.” Melisande's mind wandered to Lerino, briefly. Her tempestuous love. How was he? Was he back in Silverpine? Was he content, comfortable, sad? Had he taken another lover already? Likely, given what she had seen before. There was a slight pang of jealousy that pierced her heart, but it wasn't the tidal wave of sadness she'd had last week. “Some people more than others. Passionate people.” He had been so passionate about so many things, and at times she found herself drowning in it. “I do so admire people with passion, Khida.”

Khida tilted her chin up proudly. Meli fetched a silk ribbon from her pocket and brought it round the girl's head for her to inspect. It was pale spring green, the color of fuzzy leaf buds. It had reminded her of a new friend and she'd guessed that the young girl would appreciate it too. “Will this do, do you think?”

Khida gave a dramatic squeal of joy, grabbing the loose tail of the hair ribbon to rub it between two little fingers. “Oh Miss Melisande,” she sighed. “For me?”

“It's for you. One for each braid.” Meli brought her hand back around and tied off the braid, moving her freckled hands to form the other one.

Khida nuzzled back against her at that reply, resting in the V of her open legs with an ease that increased with each passing day. This damaged little bird was learning to trust with each morsel of kindness.

It was then that Melisande realized she had a passion inside of her too - for this. For bringing comfort, compassion, empathy. It was a quieter passion than some - no fire or ice, no flash, no showy displays or dramatic debates. But it was hers - her identity. Her heart was soft as silk, and there was nothing wrong with that, she decided.