You Know the Truest Me

Amalia If the blush at her confession is pink then the one that blooms under Evie's teasing is positively rosy. "I do not!" she declares indignantly, shaking her head at the playful accusation and flicking a fistful of flour at the older girl, another remnant of younger days. "If I was going to manipulate my way to the top I would have tried to make him King, not General." Though a swift shudder shows just how seriously she takes that idea, her face bunching up in clear distaste. It softens again as Evie mentions knowing Deimos already, and Amalia brightens with the soft glow of the young and in love. "He does," she admits, biting her lip and mixing the dough with careful, practiced fingers as she considers what else to say, her cheeks once more adopting a rosy sheen. "In, ah... In lots of ways." A quick glance up at Evie, then back to her work, the implications of what she doesn't say hanging there between them. Amalia turns the bowl of dough out onto the counter, kneading now in earnest. "What about you, though? Anyone new in your life?" And then less brightly, almost hesitant: "How's Sam?" reach for the stars: but child, first recognize the constellations of light you already carry inside you