a long cold walk after midnight

Amalia

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stop thinking so much

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"You threatened a man with death, Roana." Amalia's voice is quite from behind Remi, though she clenches her hands in frustration, dark eyes flinty as the insults fly. "And from that, Wessex learned who you are. I did not tell her your name- but I begged her not to hurt you, and she promised she would not."  Why must there always be bloodshed as an answer, why must there be pain and strife? Amalia is not a soldier. She is barely a Shield.

She is just a baker, a girl raised in a glass bubble, trying to keep her world alive.

Remi's anger continues to push through the room in waves, enough to keep Amalia subdued, frightened of adding to the powder keg, the possible volatility and risk for disaster. Hers is a strange position in this: torn between her respect for Ludo and her morality, knowing that the gods are right yet reckless murder must be wrong. She does not come with answers from Mort, does not come with any solution, but believes that there exists one. There has to, for without an alternative the risk of war grows far too great.

"I still believe there is another way. There must be." She glances at Remi and back at Roana, stepping forward a little now, if only to hold the alchemist back. "Help us find it, Roana. A different answer. A better answer. Don't add to the darkness."

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you're breaking your own heart

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