"Clearly." Amalia's voice, too, remembers voting, nominations and confirmations, people stepping up and names in a ballot. Names she read, a resistance she organized, another attempt she made, and for what?
For everything to fall apart, just as it always does.
She is glad that Ronin doesn't hate her, though it does not ease the feeling in her gut that she deserves it, that she has failed and fallen and dragged them all with her and so many things are her fault. The resistance, the kingship, the Spire, the blight. If she had not asked Safrin to intervene, would the goddess be okay? Would Ronin?
Dark eyes watch without remark as something black takes the king's face over, a real anger flashing across that usually languid expression. Fuck the fucking spire indeed- and that feeling of guilt writhes inside her again, curling and biting at her belly, angry and hot and sharp as ice. It should have been me. It should have been me.
Placing the bag onto the ground, Amalia pulls out her next roll, thinking of all the things she's angry about and knowing that at the center is one she cannot name, not aloud, not here. So she takes a cheap option, winding up tense before hurling her stale loaf into the mist, her alto voice venomous as she cries into the void, "Fuck you, Voice!" Amalia's lips are a feline snarl, and for a moment she pants, the hundreds of things she wants to blame on the voice sitting behind her teeth. Then Jyoti coos, and the girl calms, enough to run her hand through her hair.
Glancing at Ronin with a wry mirthless grin, the baker shrugs. "I thought it bore repeating." Amalia i've been watching your kindness keep
a lonely company - look at the fire and think of me
|
