Prodigal

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help "That would be nice," Amalia replies softly, a genuine smile on her face. Seeing Rory, who has been so terribly absent of late; having a normal dinner surrounded by her friends sounds like an incredible break from the reality they have found themselves in of late. "Deimos and I can bring something... bread, or a pie?" That the invitation would include the Sword is unquestioned in the baker's mind. They are all of them friends, after all, a family of sorts knit together through hardships and loyalty, and a night of relaxation and happiness includes the mountain, at least for the girl. Amalia follows Jigano to the office door, biting her lip as he asks why she's asking, a troubled expression on her face. She hasn't told anyone about what happened that night, and she is not sure it is something she should - or can - share, even with him. And so the baker does something she has not done often, and is not very good at: she lies. A little. "Since Safrin has been sick, I thought... maybe it would be nice to remind her of when she was younger. Write her a story or a... a song, or something." She trails off lamely, shrugging a little, clearly troubled by her thoughts once more. Every time she feels like she can breathe Amalia finds herself again drowning, her head never out of the water for more than a minute. It is exhausting, and she is tired. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine