she had magic in her eyes even the stars envied
Amlia shifts as Remi descends, taking on an otter form and draping herself across his shoulders. The little mammal is an easier one for managing not to fall, small claws grasping at his tunic as he drops lightly into the messy room. A room that smells like both of them, and Aoife as well, but which also smells earthy, like compost or decay. The smell of illness. The smell of the blight.
The smell of fast approaching doom.
She hears the bitten back remark, the thing he does not say, and it stirs something painful and shallow in her breast. Turning back into an owl Amalia eyes the glass of water, hooting softly when the line of it is level and in place. She wishes she could say something to comfort him, but any comfort would be a lie, hollow platitudes with nothing behind them except for good intent.
So instead she tries to distract him, asking a question long on her mind. What do I look like to you, Remi? Now that your vision has... Changed.
The smell of fast approaching doom.
She hears the bitten back remark, the thing he does not say, and it stirs something painful and shallow in her breast. Turning back into an owl Amalia eyes the glass of water, hooting softly when the line of it is level and in place. She wishes she could say something to comfort him, but any comfort would be a lie, hollow platitudes with nothing behind them except for good intent.
So instead she tries to distract him, asking a question long on her mind. What do I look like to you, Remi? Now that your vision has... Changed.
