Amalia
she was afraid of heights
She knows she should not be so amused by the idea of Ludo in a Safrin costume, but Amalia cannot restrain the giggles that peal from her lips. Clearing her throat in an attempt to compose herself, Amalia turns back to smile at Ludo, obedient and reverent but a little playful, too. "Very well," she answers gravely. "Safrin you shall be.'
Her stressors, her tirades, are met with silence, a thoughtfulness from the oddly expressive rags. Anxiety grips at her again; she wonders if perhaps the gods are tired of her endless missteps, her failed attempts to help. Whatever it is Amalia expects to happen, it is not the thing that does: Ludo's hand (?) bopping her nose gently, gentle consternation in it's voice.
An appropriate level of embarrassment passes over the baker's face, and she drops her head obediently, though she cannot say she agrees. "As you wish," she murmurs softly, dark eyes on the ground as she worries her lip. "Though, if I may- why did you call me thank? Zariah did, too, and some others. I don't understand."
Her stressors, her tirades, are met with silence, a thoughtfulness from the oddly expressive rags. Anxiety grips at her again; she wonders if perhaps the gods are tired of her endless missteps, her failed attempts to help. Whatever it is Amalia expects to happen, it is not the thing that does: Ludo's hand (?) bopping her nose gently, gentle consternation in it's voice.
An appropriate level of embarrassment passes over the baker's face, and she drops her head obediently, though she cannot say she agrees. "As you wish," she murmurs softly, dark eyes on the ground as she worries her lip. "Though, if I may- why did you call me thank? Zariah did, too, and some others. I don't understand."
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
