Amalia
For my part, I know nothing with any certainty
Amalia laughs as she moves to make tea, but the sound is humorless, a hollow thing, her heart clearly far from anything resembling mirth. "You didn't?" she asks, pouring water from a nearby pitcher into the teapot and setting it in the still warm stove. Jyoti hums softly, trying to reassure the boy, her lazy somersaults leaving a cloak of starlight around his chair. Turning around, the girl shrugs, her face hard and tired from the past few weeks. "Nobody wants her to be Queen, Emmett. Or at least, nobody sane."Pulling out a seat across from him, the baker sits down heavily, her stars following behind. She rests her head upon her palms, thoughtful for a second, eyes distant, distracted. Blinking, Amalia looks back at the boy and sighs heavily again. "So that was a shitshow," the Shield says flatly, a wry half-smile on her face.
but the sight of the stars makes me dream
