AMALiA
There it is again. People respect you- as if there is any truth to that, as though there are not others more suitable, as if she truly has anybody's respect. But it is far less bewildering that the woman's response to Amalia's simple words, the outburst of justification, the way she entirely misses the point that the baker - that Vi - has made. The point is not that murder is easy, it is that it is easy to justify killing, which is what Roana seems to be doing. It infuriates her, confuses her, makes her want to hide or scream. She does not want to hear how terrible it is to take a life, and each new detail is like a twist of the knife, separating them further from one another. It is a terrible thing, to do something so wrong for all the right reasons. "Is there ever a right reason?" the Shield asks quietly, clenching her talons into her fists.
Her rose planted successfully, Amalia rises to her feet, staring at Roana through narrowed black eyes. "How many people have you killed, Roana?" Her voice is low and quiet, a dangerous edge to her tone. "How many times have you told yourself you did it because it was right?" Suddenly the baker takes a step forward, her shoulders bristling with a leopard's fur, her eyes narrowing to slits. There is power, strength behind her muscles, more than there was two seasons ago when they had their fateful fight. Amalia is stronger, faster, has suffered more.
"By your own logic... If I were to kill you here, to protect the lives of the Ascendeds you are threatening, wouldn't it be right?"
Were she to fight Roana again today, she may well win.
the darkest nights produce the brightest stars
