Amalia
she was afraid of heights
They all come: Delah, curt as always, a contingent of Fae at her back; Jigano, offering advice and information, pointing to more potential life beneath the earth; Deimos, silent, stoic, unreadable, making her stomach lurch a little with anxiety and concern; and Ronin, fashionably late but agreeable as always, a welcome addition to the group. "Yes," she answers his question, reaching back to tie her own scarf around her face. From within her voice is muffled, but the determination in her eyes speaks of a steeled, ready tone. "Let's go."
So they begin, descending down into the earth, her staff casting crimson light, the starwhale lingering anxiously behind. The stairwell is a mess, half-covered in rubble, and Amalia pushes some away to clear a narrow path. There's gas, too: she can feel it through her scarf, pushing and burning against her nose, her mouth, her eyes. She should have asked Remi to make her something to block it out. She should have told her friends to stay behind, not to endanger themselves on this mission. She should have done it weeks ago.
She should have done a lot of things.
"Delah," she calls back back quietly to the fae, "Could you and your warriors make masks like that for us, too?"
So they begin, descending down into the earth, her staff casting crimson light, the starwhale lingering anxiously behind. The stairwell is a mess, half-covered in rubble, and Amalia pushes some away to clear a narrow path. There's gas, too: she can feel it through her scarf, pushing and burning against her nose, her mouth, her eyes. She should have asked Remi to make her something to block it out. She should have told her friends to stay behind, not to endanger themselves on this mission. She should have done it weeks ago.
She should have done a lot of things.
"Delah," she calls back back quietly to the fae, "Could you and your warriors make masks like that for us, too?"
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
