Amalia
Amalia does not know what is going to happen, except that she has no idea why she thought this was a good idea. A shiver courses through her body as she descends into the Drop, anxiety rising in her veins as she is separated and sectioned off, maneuvered into an individual area with nobody but the Fae.
It is dark, but the baker is prepared for that, her crimson staff glowing in the darkness, her silver shield strapped to her left arm. She clings white-knuckled to the length of Luxere antler and wood, her bare feet fidgeting on the ground, mouth dry and black eyes wide as she awaits whatever is to come. "Vi, guide me," Amalia murmurs, before stepping further into the dark.
It is dark, but the baker is prepared for that, her crimson staff glowing in the darkness, her silver shield strapped to her left arm. She clings white-knuckled to the length of Luxere antler and wood, her bare feet fidgeting on the ground, mouth dry and black eyes wide as she awaits whatever is to come. "Vi, guide me," Amalia murmurs, before stepping further into the dark.
