Amalia
the archangel
"Older, for one." Amalia laughs then, the rich timbre of her alto voice like smoke in the evening glow. That years have passed is hard for her to quite wrap her mind around; to her, time has been still and peaceful, a warm continuum unaffected by the eddies and tides of change. Her smile softens, wistful and nostalgic, though without trace of bitterness or grief. "And... whole. Realized. Like you've found your place in the world." Leader. Husband. Father. All roles that suit him in a way that stirs gladness in her heart.He hardens in the wake of her story, and even without the Attuned bond Amalia can feel his thoughts. "I know," she interjects, soft but firm, gazing up with an expression that carries no resentment or blame. Slender fingers reach for his, the motion too familiar and easy for her to second guess. She knows that he would have fought for her, even in those difficult days when they'd just begun to heal from fracturing apart. He had always been a bulwark, a bastion, a lighthouse without the expectation of anything in return. He had given and given so much of himself.
She can only hope he's learned to keep some pieces for himself.
"I'm sorry, too." Sorry for being foolish enough to go off by herself, for letting her pride and hurt and impatience prevent her from being smart. Sorry they never got the chance to mend their broken edges, that she had left the wound undressed and unfinished for all of this time. But there's no going back, no unwinding time, and she hasn't come here to drag him back to the past. Especially when even now here the Sword is, asking what he can do for her, and oh, if it doesn't maker her breathe a laugh of nostalgia and love.
Again she smiles up at him, squeezing gently at his calloused fingers. "Live your best life," Amalia whispers, rising up on tiptoes, she presses a chaste, adoring kiss into the side of his face. "Take care of yourself. Love yourself. Live- that's the greatest gift you can give me."
With a final press she steps away, a sly expression coming over her face. "So... you and Evie, huh?" Her nose crinkles happily, playful merriment dancing in her eyes. "You certainly have a type," she teases. And then, more earnestly: "I'm so happy for you, Dei. You and your family. You have a son! What's he like?"
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
