You Know the Truest Me

Amalia There is something incredible in being seen, and as Evie fixes her with a soft blue stare Amalia truly feels that the older girl sees her. Sees and has seen, through the course of years: as she's risen and stumbled and fallen and stood back up. For Evie the baker does not need to be the Shield of Safrin; she does not need to be a protector of the Hollowed Grounds, one who prays and aches and tries. In the eyes of her sister she can simply be a girl, fragile and striving with tears on her cheeks. Obediently she drops her face, smiling shyly as the redhead's lips press gently to her forehead. Looking up as the healer withdraws, Amalia's head tilts to the side, her expression soft and bright and for a moment unguarded. Taking the pouch of herbs into slender hands, she steps back around the counter, laughing a little and shaking her head with playful mischief in her voice. "One or two, perhaps." For Evie? Always. Humming, Amalia picks up the kettle and sets it into the already warming oven, waiting for the water to warm for tea. Turning back to the counter, she reaches below, pulling out a plate of yesterday's scones and putting them into the space between them. "But if you want something fresh you'll have to wait- or you can help me bake." Like old times- a continued respite from the things they haven't said, a foray back into comfortable memory, a break from the dangers and dramas of the world. reach for the stars: but child, first recognize the constellations of light you already carry inside you