AmaLiA
the shield of safrin
There is a celebration to be had, amidst the dark.
It has been six years since Amalia celebrated her birthday, six years since her first tragedy struck. LongNight has always been a difficult time, but her Nani made it feel that much brighter. Every year without fail the old woman would make Amalia a cake in her favorite flavors: cinnamon and ginger, with a cardamom cream. How she managed to find the supplies in the middle of winter always mistified the girl, but Amalia had grown to relish that spot of brightness, that happy moment in the long dark week.
After her grandmother died, though, celebrating felt like sacrilidge, a brutal dismissal of all she had lost. Why should she be happy during the week when so many lived in fear? She hadn't wanted to remember her grandmother and those brighter, happier years. She'd been comfortable in her unhappiness, the easy depression that smothered her and shut out the world like the Longnight shades.
But this year is different. The amount that Amalia has changed and grown and learned in the year is truly astounding. Oh, the anxious, quiet girl still lives in her soul, but now there is more, boldness and brightness, wisdom and playfulness and most of all, hope. Hope for a future where the world is more, greater than the dark. Hope for a world where she heals instead of hurts. Hope for a world that is better for those who come next.
Like Aoife.
Amalia's steps are nearly silent as she slips into the girl's room, the cake clenched nervously on a plate between her hands. Ronin is there, of course, and for a moment she hesitates, not sure if she's ready to face the man after all she said when they sparred. Licking her lips, the Shield inhales a steadying breath before offering the once-king a hesitant smile.
Setting the cake on a nearby mantle, Amalia kneels to where Aoife plays in a pile of furs on the floor. His daughter is precious and growing swiftly, surrounded as she is by endless love, Safrin's starlight in her eyes. "Hello, Starchild," the Shield murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Aoife's dark curls. "I made us a birthday cake." Dark eyes focus back up on Ronin, still a little unsure. "I hope that that's okay."
It has been six years since Amalia celebrated her birthday, six years since her first tragedy struck. LongNight has always been a difficult time, but her Nani made it feel that much brighter. Every year without fail the old woman would make Amalia a cake in her favorite flavors: cinnamon and ginger, with a cardamom cream. How she managed to find the supplies in the middle of winter always mistified the girl, but Amalia had grown to relish that spot of brightness, that happy moment in the long dark week.
After her grandmother died, though, celebrating felt like sacrilidge, a brutal dismissal of all she had lost. Why should she be happy during the week when so many lived in fear? She hadn't wanted to remember her grandmother and those brighter, happier years. She'd been comfortable in her unhappiness, the easy depression that smothered her and shut out the world like the Longnight shades.
But this year is different. The amount that Amalia has changed and grown and learned in the year is truly astounding. Oh, the anxious, quiet girl still lives in her soul, but now there is more, boldness and brightness, wisdom and playfulness and most of all, hope. Hope for a future where the world is more, greater than the dark. Hope for a world where she heals instead of hurts. Hope for a world that is better for those who come next.
Like Aoife.
Amalia's steps are nearly silent as she slips into the girl's room, the cake clenched nervously on a plate between her hands. Ronin is there, of course, and for a moment she hesitates, not sure if she's ready to face the man after all she said when they sparred. Licking her lips, the Shield inhales a steadying breath before offering the once-king a hesitant smile.
Setting the cake on a nearby mantle, Amalia kneels to where Aoife plays in a pile of furs on the floor. His daughter is precious and growing swiftly, surrounded as she is by endless love, Safrin's starlight in her eyes. "Hello, Starchild," the Shield murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Aoife's dark curls. "I made us a birthday cake." Dark eyes focus back up on Ronin, still a little unsure. "I hope that that's okay."
you're breaking your own heart
