It takes a leap of faith

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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She searches the room and his voice follows her, generosity offered again and again. A smile and laugh reply to his suggestion, touched and bewildered by the ease with which he gives to her, who has done nothing to earn it. "I've only ever learned how to use a staff," she admits somewhat reluctantly, afraid to make a fool of a potential gift, to have him find she cannot possibly do justice to the faith he endlessly misplaces in her. Still, her attention lingers on the blades, particularly fascinated by a pair of long daggers, curved and wicked and likely impossible for one so graceless to possibly wield.

Still, it would be nice to have more skills, to be able to protect her loved ones and friends. She has no magic after all, no ability to do anything other than bake. And as much as she would like to save the word through the power of pastry, the viability of that plan seems minimal at best.

His reading comment draws her around, a playful grin given in response to his mischievous smile. Slinking forward suddenly, Amalia decreases the distance between them, leaning back against the table and flashing him a smile. Maybe it would have been sultrier if she wasn't blackberry-stained and wounded, but she is doing her best. "Hmm... Absolutely nothing. I'd rather keep taking advantage of you." An eyebrow arches in delicate challenge; her hands rest on the wood. There's something close to a purr in her smoky voice, alto lilting teasingly over the words, a flirtatious tone in more skilled lips made playfully earnest by inexperience.

He's looking into the first of the baskets, and Amalia follows his fingers with her gaze, a moment of panic crossing over her face as she tries to establish which one it is. Then she relaxes, an exhale leaving her lungs: "I brought some vegetables and dough for a pie," she says, reaching out to try and snag the second basket before he can look within.

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you're breaking your own heart

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