the fleas cling to the golden fleece, hoping they'll find peace
With her legs straddled over her fellow queen's lap, Nia nervously stays her fingers from digging in at the realness of Melia's sides. Her brilliant, beautiful wings...terrible, for what they symbolize, as everything in this world is, but real. Wonderfully real. Untouchable, beyond ethereal, but wondrous nonetheless.
Melia shifts. "Are you well, my love?"
A tiny, non-Queen-Nia-shaped voice echoes in the back of her head: "Are you well?" Are you insane?
"Very much so."
Not sleeping. Not chained.
Free as a bird - hysterical, to think it! And the cat could prowl to her heart's content, keeping her beloved safe.