Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
Delah's small hand on her wrist is a strange surprise, and the girl stares at it with wide almond eyes as if she is afraid the touch will burn. When at last the Fae releases her she brings it to her chest, left hand rubbing unconsciously over the spot as she listens to Delah speak. "What happens to people who touch it?" she asks, though perhaps the answer has already been given: they die. Frowning, Amalia gives the black spots one more look before returning her attention to the Fae.
It is not that the girl doubted the Fae had done any of the things she suggested; more, she does not know what to suggest. Sighing, she reaches up to rub her neck, expression rueful and chagrined. "The ascended..." she repeats, looking down, wishing she could do anything, knew something that might help. At least Delah's abrasive disdain does not hurt so much, is less of a brand than when they first met. Humming thoughtfully, she casts her eyes further into the forest. "Maybe... maybe there are answers in the Spire... or maybe it has a source there. If there is a Tulmhainar inside, it might know..."
It is not that the girl doubted the Fae had done any of the things she suggested; more, she does not know what to suggest. Sighing, she reaches up to rub her neck, expression rueful and chagrined. "The ascended..." she repeats, looking down, wishing she could do anything, knew something that might help. At least Delah's abrasive disdain does not hurt so much, is less of a brand than when they first met. Humming thoughtfully, she casts her eyes further into the forest. "Maybe... maybe there are answers in the Spire... or maybe it has a source there. If there is a Tulmhainar inside, it might know..."
