Amalia
the archangel
It has been a roller coaster of an evening for Amalia, a girl who's never experienced a moderate emotion in her life. Or death, as it turns out; for while the peace of an afterlife has tempered her somewhat, the inherent nature of the Shield can never be undone. Eventually she finds herself in a quiet place, her busy mind processing, her curious eyes soaking in every moment, every movement, every wonderful second of magic and marvel that is being alive.
Ronin finds her, then, as he had so often before, and Amalia turns readily to her friend, thoughtful expression growing warm. "A lot?" she supplies, accepting the drink with a grateful smile, though her nose scrunches slightly as she takes the first sip. Ever a lightweight, the girl had never learned to enjoy the taste of alcohol, though in later years she could appreciate the value of a comfortable buzz.
His words cast faint shadows over her thoughts, and she turns away to shield him from the shift in her expression, determined not to be a source of pain on this, his wonderful day. "Me too," she whispers, unable to keep the tremulous edge from her voice, regret for all the things she's missed flashing in dark eyes.
She rallies, though, smiling at Ronin, leaning in to bump her shoulder on his. "I can't believe it's been ten years." Ten years since she performed their wedding ceremony, an honor for which she had felt, at the time, woefully underprepared. Shifting, Amalia lets her weight settle against him, leaning easily into his familiar warmth. "Though if anyone was going to pull it off it'd be you two. I've never known a more stubborn pair of fools." The laugh that follows isn't forced in the slightest, and when she tilts her face up toward him it holds nothing but adoration and warmth. "Congratulations, Mr. White Knight."
Ronin finds her, then, as he had so often before, and Amalia turns readily to her friend, thoughtful expression growing warm. "A lot?" she supplies, accepting the drink with a grateful smile, though her nose scrunches slightly as she takes the first sip. Ever a lightweight, the girl had never learned to enjoy the taste of alcohol, though in later years she could appreciate the value of a comfortable buzz.
His words cast faint shadows over her thoughts, and she turns away to shield him from the shift in her expression, determined not to be a source of pain on this, his wonderful day. "Me too," she whispers, unable to keep the tremulous edge from her voice, regret for all the things she's missed flashing in dark eyes.
She rallies, though, smiling at Ronin, leaning in to bump her shoulder on his. "I can't believe it's been ten years." Ten years since she performed their wedding ceremony, an honor for which she had felt, at the time, woefully underprepared. Shifting, Amalia lets her weight settle against him, leaning easily into his familiar warmth. "Though if anyone was going to pull it off it'd be you two. I've never known a more stubborn pair of fools." The laugh that follows isn't forced in the slightest, and when she tilts her face up toward him it holds nothing but adoration and warmth. "Congratulations, Mr. White Knight."
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
