[SE] The Candle and the Mirror

YOU SAID THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT THE MOON IT ROSE TOO SOON AND WE'RE DOING WHAT WE SHOULD Night falls, as it always does, but tonight the night holds no fear. It is alive, bustling and billowing with candlelight and song, the festivities perhaps wound down a moment but nowhere near complete. Having retired to a time back into the bakery stall, Amalia is ready to return to the festivities, her fingers shifting restlessly upon the cracked wood. She wishes to light a candle; she has brought a bag full, old and new, and so when her friends find her at last it is all she can do to keep from bounding over the counter, sweeping them up in the whirlwind of her enthusiasm and carrying them to the sun. Bright eyed and red-cheeked, Amalia wraps herself in a shawl as she trails beside Rory and Jigano, content for the moment to walk slightly behind, her keen eyes flitting between their close proximity to their entwined hands. Perhaps at another time she might have felt lonely, jealous and left out of their duet of warmth, but the girl has enjoyed a sunlit Fiat Lux, merriment and laughter leaving her breathless and benign. Her face is gentle and mischievous, illuminated by a smirk: she is happy they are happy, that in the middle of all this chaos, they have managed to find love. Uncharacteristically over-enthused, aroused and invigorated by her daytime exploits, Amalia is a not still for long. A strain of music rises through the air, and Amalia twirls into it, skipping barefoot in the grass as they near the ring of fire and coming to stand before her friends, walking shakily backwards as she smiles into their silver and gold faces, an air of faux innocence glittering in her eyes. "Oh, was Rory too busy to tell you about it?" One brow arches delicately as she shakes her head at the tall, feathered-hair man, mockingly chastising. "I bet he forgot to tell you to bring a candle, too. Absolutely useless. You really should just run away with me." An almond eye winks now at Jigano, and for a moment she sidles up to him, nesting her head upon his shoulder before laughing and spinning away, coming to a stop beside an empty place on the candlelit sun. She is a giddy thing, a lantern on the wind, the best of her brought forth from shadow, a far cry from the morose ghost of the morning. a m a l i a You said it's life that moves too much We're losing touch But I'm not losing you