Prodigal

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help He steps toward her, and Amalia lets him, almond eyes bright with happy tears as he places his hands upon her cheeks, brushing away the salt and sweat. The smile on her lips sings a song of relief - it's over, it's over, and their faith is rewarded, their efforts redeemed. Vi and Rae have heard and answered and washed away their sins. Jigano's lips are soft upon her forehead, and Amalia lets her eyes fall shut, smiling, relieved, radiant, pleased. The idea that she had any real role is laughable, and the baker chuckles a little, her smile fading slightly as she turns her head away. There is red on her cheeks, though from happiness, shame, pride, or a mixture is difficult to ascertain. "There were so many who helped," she murmurs softly, running her hand over her arm. "And there is still work to do before Long Night. But... knowing that the blighted will be well when darkness falls..." There are no words for the weight of her relief, but he must feel it even more acutely than she ever could. "So... what will you do, now that you're well?" Amalia asks with a returning smile, looking up to meet his blue eyes. "Go back to being provost of the Loreseekers, perhaps?" Her tone is playful, a clear invitation. Take back who you used to be. This is your place, not mine. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine