Amalia
Amalia does not respond to Phoebe's comments except to tighten her frown, not particularly interested in being lectured just now. Her anger is too raw, too recent for introspection, and though there may be wisdom in the midwife's words the baker does not see it, too blinded by her own tumultuous thoughts. So she listens without really hearing, reaching out to stroke Jyoti's starlit skin, the floating whale singing softly to soothe her human's troubled mind. By the time Phoebe stops Amalia is more tired than angry; she shrugs, a murmured "Perhaps," given in reply, and lets the subject drop.
The new point of conversation is simultaneously better and worse than the last. Amalia's blush rises on her cheeks, and she shrugs in response to Phoebe's sudden interest, not really wanting to delve much further into her experience with Frey. It had been more transactional than anything else: knowledge in exchange for physical pleasure, a trade given freely between bodies and mind. "It was after the Spire fell. They showed me the history of it, in exchange for orgasms." Perhaps there is something wrong with her, that she does not see it as something joyous, delightful. With Deimos it is different - there is trust, and love, an emotional connection to go with the bodily exchange. With Frey it had been good, but not what she wanted.
They did stay with her, in the end.
Amalia shrugs again, continuing to listen to Phoebe talk, the information stored away with no small amount of rising alarm. Strange smells? Itching? Pain? The girl can't say she's felt any of that, though now she begins to wonder and doubt, anxiety an easy spiral into which she sinks. It isn't until the mention of fertility that Amalia's head shoots up, a surprised laugh leaving her lungs, genuine and amused. "When?" she repeats, shaking her head, a rueful grin upon her lips. "I never plan on having children. So those herbs sound great."
The new point of conversation is simultaneously better and worse than the last. Amalia's blush rises on her cheeks, and she shrugs in response to Phoebe's sudden interest, not really wanting to delve much further into her experience with Frey. It had been more transactional than anything else: knowledge in exchange for physical pleasure, a trade given freely between bodies and mind. "It was after the Spire fell. They showed me the history of it, in exchange for orgasms." Perhaps there is something wrong with her, that she does not see it as something joyous, delightful. With Deimos it is different - there is trust, and love, an emotional connection to go with the bodily exchange. With Frey it had been good, but not what she wanted.
They did stay with her, in the end.
Amalia shrugs again, continuing to listen to Phoebe talk, the information stored away with no small amount of rising alarm. Strange smells? Itching? Pain? The girl can't say she's felt any of that, though now she begins to wonder and doubt, anxiety an easy spiral into which she sinks. It isn't until the mention of fertility that Amalia's head shoots up, a surprised laugh leaving her lungs, genuine and amused. "When?" she repeats, shaking her head, a rueful grin upon her lips. "I never plan on having children. So those herbs sound great."
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
