she had magic in her eyes even the stars envied
A day has passed since the disaster, and Amalia finds herself at Ronin's door, her hand raised to knock without follow-up motion, frozen by trepidation and doubt. What is the point, what is the point? rings like chime through her brain, doubt gnawing at her throat, her chest, making her heartbeat an uneasy pulse. Both Ronin and Remi made their stances clear, drew lines to stand firmly behind, so why is she trying to cross them?
The hand falls, and Amalia considers turning away.
But if she leaves now then what good is she? What was the point of any of this, if she refuses to so much as discuss, as question, if they can't listen to each other? Ronin is her friend: won't he want to hear her out, to have a conversation so they can understand each other, come to stand on even ground?
Swallowing resolutely, Amalia raises her fist again.
And doesn't knock.
She wishes she'd brought Deimos, or Jigano. Even Wessex had been more eloquent than she, making her opinions and intentions clear while Amalia sat and shivered and sulked, too weighed down to contribute to anything but her own despair. She had thought - had hoped - that it would be easy, that she would simply suggest a thing and magically their problems would be solved. She had been childish, and naive, and hopeful, and stupid. She had been terribly afraid.
Just like now.
Sighing, Amalia bites her lip, almost hard enough to bleed. Fuck it - fuck it - she can't do this, what's the point, where will it lead except nowhere at all, she should just turn around and walk away-
Amalia knocks on the wooden door, and and prays nobody will answer.
Set before the KQ
The hand falls, and Amalia considers turning away.
But if she leaves now then what good is she? What was the point of any of this, if she refuses to so much as discuss, as question, if they can't listen to each other? Ronin is her friend: won't he want to hear her out, to have a conversation so they can understand each other, come to stand on even ground?
Swallowing resolutely, Amalia raises her fist again.
And doesn't knock.
She wishes she'd brought Deimos, or Jigano. Even Wessex had been more eloquent than she, making her opinions and intentions clear while Amalia sat and shivered and sulked, too weighed down to contribute to anything but her own despair. She had thought - had hoped - that it would be easy, that she would simply suggest a thing and magically their problems would be solved. She had been childish, and naive, and hopeful, and stupid. She had been terribly afraid.
Just like now.
Sighing, Amalia bites her lip, almost hard enough to bleed. Fuck it - fuck it - she can't do this, what's the point, where will it lead except nowhere at all, she should just turn around and walk away-
Amalia knocks on the wooden door, and and prays nobody will answer.
Set before the KQ
