she didn't want to love
she wanted to b e l o v e d
and that was entirely different
When all else fails, Amalia turns back to prayer.she wanted to b e l o v e d
and that was entirely different
Through her life, there are many who have questioned her fervor to the gods. Pious is one of the kinder things they call her, though many of the labels are far less mild: follower. Obsessed. Self-righteous. Fanatic. Why are you so eager to be a pawn? they ask her. Don't you have a will of your own?
Settling down before the shrine, Amalia exhales and closes her eyes as Jyoti settles in her lap, starlit and splendid and soothing with song. Maybe she is merely a follower. Maybe she does not have a will. She has always been a creature of flaws, insecure and small and fragile. Maybe she was born too broken; certainly it had always seemed to the girl that others had an easier time. Living and bonding and trying and succeeding had always seemed so effortless when others failed. Maybe Amalia simply lacks the ability to be a full person, without a cause to serve.
The thing is, Amalia does not see it as servitude, as blind following or obeying, as being a tool. She sees it as repayment in the only way she knows how. Vi and Mort, Caido and Rae- they have given her a purpose, a reason, a world. The least she can give them in return is her mortal life, meaningless as it may be, because when she does the work they have gifted she knows that she is doing right. The rest of the time she may be a failure, but in those spots of brightness she can see hope, that someday, somehow, she might in fact matter.
That is the light she clings to now, as the shadows tighten their grip on her heart, as the tide of failures rises steadily up to drag her to the depths. Sitting before the altar of Vi, Amalia feels closer to peace than she has in many weeks - not peaceful, not calm, not happy, but close, as though a sliver of that sunlight might reach her through she shade.
She has placed a candle upon the altar, and her shield and staff lay by her side. "Vi," she murmurs to the silence, prayer the song she knows most dearly, "Thank you for the roses. For giving us another chance. The blight is fading from the people, and from the plants... But another danger is rising, and we could use your counsel."
Amalia
we are all b r o k e n
that's how the l i g h t gets in
that's how the l i g h t gets in
