Amalia
only lonely hid the morning from the stars
✩
They take to her idea with surprising aplomb, though Deimos alone seems hesitant, something in the man closing off. Worry twists the girl's mouth; she fears perhaps she has made a mistake, pushed him too far, asked for too much. They do not often speak of the gods, but Amalia has gleaned enough to know that her lover's feelings on them are mild at best. Maybe it was wrong to force this on him, to make him serve a purpose he does not understand.
All she had wanted was to share with him the power of purpose which brings her joy.
Sighing a little, Amalia takes paper and quill, pulling her knees up to write. When she'd come up with this idea she thought she knew what she would say. A song from her grandmother, hymn of praise, a pretty and refined and perfect thing for Safrin to enjoy. Now, though, she is less sure. It feels like an empty gesture, ignoring the gravity of it all. How can she say that a is well when clearly it is not? How can she sing the songs of a world that is disappearing before her eyes?
How can she ever so enough to thank her, to apologize, to be enough?
Taking the quill between her fingers, Amalia writes a simple note.
Safrin,
Get well soon. You are our brightest star.
Folding the paper between her fingers, Amalia turns to check on Deimos, just in time to see him raise his own note for her eyes. A flash, an instant, it is all she gets: but it is enough to melt her heart, a brilliant smile curling her lips, relief and happiness and adoration painted plainly across her face. In that moment the world falls away, and all there is is them, him, painted before her in copper and onyx and the deepest, most radiant blues.
Then he throws the note in the flame without a word, and Amalia does the same, letting her hand press over his, leaning silently against his arm.
Dark eyes watch as the words are eaten, consumed by fire and turned to ash, embers and smoke carried up and up, caught and swirled on a surprising breeze. "She'll like that," she murmurs confidently, her face turned up to the sky. "I don't suppose anyone brought an instrument? Or knows how to play? I... I have a song we used to sing for her. It's pretty simple."
She passes to each man a page with the words, humming the tune for them to catch oh. Giving them a moment to decide how they will proceed - with instruments made, with voice or drums, or simply by listening - Amalia begins to sing as the celestials dance around her head, and Jyoti croons along.
"Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Hold me in the darkness
Let your light never far.
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, Safrin, guide me.
Fill my heart with song
And let me sing for ever more
Praises to you, Safrin,
Who I worship and adore
In other words, keep me true,
In other words, I love you
Fill my heart with song
Let me sing for ever more
Praises to you, Safrin
All I worship and adore.
In other words, keep me true,
In other words
I love you."
Sing, play, dance, or simply listen to Safrin's song, and feel free to follow up with your own!
All she had wanted was to share with him the power of purpose which brings her joy.
Sighing a little, Amalia takes paper and quill, pulling her knees up to write. When she'd come up with this idea she thought she knew what she would say. A song from her grandmother, hymn of praise, a pretty and refined and perfect thing for Safrin to enjoy. Now, though, she is less sure. It feels like an empty gesture, ignoring the gravity of it all. How can she say that a is well when clearly it is not? How can she sing the songs of a world that is disappearing before her eyes?
How can she ever so enough to thank her, to apologize, to be enough?
Taking the quill between her fingers, Amalia writes a simple note.
Safrin,
Get well soon. You are our brightest star.
Folding the paper between her fingers, Amalia turns to check on Deimos, just in time to see him raise his own note for her eyes. A flash, an instant, it is all she gets: but it is enough to melt her heart, a brilliant smile curling her lips, relief and happiness and adoration painted plainly across her face. In that moment the world falls away, and all there is is them, him, painted before her in copper and onyx and the deepest, most radiant blues.
Then he throws the note in the flame without a word, and Amalia does the same, letting her hand press over his, leaning silently against his arm.
Dark eyes watch as the words are eaten, consumed by fire and turned to ash, embers and smoke carried up and up, caught and swirled on a surprising breeze. "She'll like that," she murmurs confidently, her face turned up to the sky. "I don't suppose anyone brought an instrument? Or knows how to play? I... I have a song we used to sing for her. It's pretty simple."
She passes to each man a page with the words, humming the tune for them to catch oh. Giving them a moment to decide how they will proceed - with instruments made, with voice or drums, or simply by listening - Amalia begins to sing as the celestials dance around her head, and Jyoti croons along.
"Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars
Hold me in the darkness
Let your light never far.
In other words, hold my hand
In other words, Safrin, guide me.
Fill my heart with song
And let me sing for ever more
Praises to you, Safrin,
Who I worship and adore
In other words, keep me true,
In other words, I love you
Fill my heart with song
Let me sing for ever more
Praises to you, Safrin
All I worship and adore.
In other words, keep me true,
In other words
I love you."
Sing, play, dance, or simply listen to Safrin's song, and feel free to follow up with your own!
