Amalia
only lonely hid the morning from the stars
✩
Maea's story is woefully lacking in specifics, Amalia thinks, her brow furrowing despite her lack of energy. "What about before that?" she wonders, trying to make sense of the timing of it all. "And how did you get to Halo? Did you find another portal?" She feels like she would have known about another portal, but stranger things have happened.
Pressing her palms against the bed, Amalia scoots herself up on the pillows, enough to be considered something approximating 'upright'. She has come to loathe the sound of her legs dragging uselessly over the bedding, but the blanket muffles it well enough that she can almost ignore it all. There is no part of Amalia that ever loved houses of healing; as an invalid she finds that everything in the Infirmary irritates her, every footstep and rustle and goddamn flower feels like a slap in the face.
She doesn't want to talk or hear about herself, and her expression likely shows that as Maea begins to list her questionable accomplishments. A tight smile marks pale lips, nostrils flaring as she exhales. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. "I remember. The stories were more interesting, though. Less of literally everything going wrong all the time, no matter how hard you try." She doesn't try to hide the bitterness in her voice, or the tiredness in her face, though she turns her head away.
Pressing her palms against the bed, Amalia scoots herself up on the pillows, enough to be considered something approximating 'upright'. She has come to loathe the sound of her legs dragging uselessly over the bedding, but the blanket muffles it well enough that she can almost ignore it all. There is no part of Amalia that ever loved houses of healing; as an invalid she finds that everything in the Infirmary irritates her, every footstep and rustle and goddamn flower feels like a slap in the face.
She doesn't want to talk or hear about herself, and her expression likely shows that as Maea begins to list her questionable accomplishments. A tight smile marks pale lips, nostrils flaring as she exhales. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. "I remember. The stories were more interesting, though. Less of literally everything going wrong all the time, no matter how hard you try." She doesn't try to hide the bitterness in her voice, or the tiredness in her face, though she turns her head away.
