Amalia
the archangel
Were she to picture a Queen of Torchline, the image would not be this- but then again, the same might be said of a government seat, or the cause of their meeting, or really anything else about this night.
They wait longer than Amalia would like, and by the time the woman brushes in (heavily pregnant, yet still with a poise the Angel could never think to emulate) the young paladin's nerve is fraying, pushed taut by silence and a myriad of doubts. She is standing still, her brother captive before her; and so she does not rise, but nods, her own flinty gaze seeking out the other woman's jade.
"Y... yes," the Archangel responds, voice breaking briefly before steeling again, spine straight as she wraps herself in the knowledge of her justice, the courage of her conviction. "My name is Amalia Chandrakant. This is Samuel Wordsworth of the Hollowed Grounds. He murdered an Attuned, James, on the shore of Torchline, before fleeing. I saw the aftermath and informed Sunjata of his crime, but..." She doesn't shrug, but the distaste is in her voice. Meeting Maeve's gaze squarely, Amalia sets her jaw. "I trust your sense of justice to be stronger than his."
They wait longer than Amalia would like, and by the time the woman brushes in (heavily pregnant, yet still with a poise the Angel could never think to emulate) the young paladin's nerve is fraying, pushed taut by silence and a myriad of doubts. She is standing still, her brother captive before her; and so she does not rise, but nods, her own flinty gaze seeking out the other woman's jade.
"Y... yes," the Archangel responds, voice breaking briefly before steeling again, spine straight as she wraps herself in the knowledge of her justice, the courage of her conviction. "My name is Amalia Chandrakant. This is Samuel Wordsworth of the Hollowed Grounds. He murdered an Attuned, James, on the shore of Torchline, before fleeing. I saw the aftermath and informed Sunjata of his crime, but..." She doesn't shrug, but the distaste is in her voice. Meeting Maeve's gaze squarely, Amalia sets her jaw. "I trust your sense of justice to be stronger than his."
we drink the poison our mind pours for us
and wonder why we feel so sick
and wonder why we feel so sick
