Amalia
"I understand that." Pouring the tea into two glasses, Amalia returns Remi's wry smile, a little bit of weariness returning to her eyes. She, too, is tired, exhausted, desperately in need of some sort of break. The year has taken a toll on the girl, aging and breaking her, leaving her spent. There are times she cannot imagine pushing forward, does not know what else to try, if it will ever be enough, how much longer she can go before bending so far she snaps and breaks.But she cannot break - she cannot break - and so she doesn't. Not yet.
Amalia's expression clouds a little, reticence marking her lips as she recalls Remi's past experiences with her gods. They had not been favorable, by and large, and the girl wonders if he will reject the idea of honoring them, if she has pushed too far. But no- somehow the girl remains optimistic, remarkably and inexplicably so, and Amalia takes solace in the boy's stalwart strength, admiring his endless optimism with a wistful sort of envy. If only it were so easy for her to maintain a smile.
"Very well," she agrees mock-indignantly, throwing up her hands, walking toward the back of the shop where her staff sits by the door. "Maybe I can whack Zariah with it a few times and heal whatever's broken in her brain." She grins wryly, only half-joking as she returns to where the alchemist waits, extending the staff. "Have they always been like this? The Launceleyns? So... awful? They must have been very powerful in Northaven..."
she was like the moon-
part of her was always hidden away
part of her was always hidden away
