Answers In The Stars

Amalia I took the stars from our eyes and I made a map Were Amalia the type to read into actions and words given by her gods, she might have been troubled by Safrin's excuses, the pain in the celestial face, the timbre of her voice. She might have bit her lip and frowned, worry in her slender features, fear like fingers around her heart. And were Amalia the type to care too deeply she might have seen Safrin's sadness and wished she could take it off the shoulders of her already struggling goddess, carried that burden and any other with all the fleeting duration and strength of her mortal life. Oh, she is a moment in the scheme of their existence, a flower cut and placed in a vase, pretty perhaps but never lasting. Amalia does not imagine herself to be anything greater, anything more. If she did she might have reached out to Safrin as she disappeared, the name of the goddess falling like raindrops from her anxious tongue. Her hand dripping to her lap, Amalia bows her head a moment, swallowing down her doubts. It is with a half smile she turns back to Adam, something fragile and close to breaking in her slender face, silently pleading he not ask about it, that he let it go. "That was Safrin," the baker says softly, rising to her feet. "Come on- you can help me set up tomorrow's bake." She could use the company, tonight. And I knew that somehow I could find my way back