Amalia
only lonely hid the morning from the stars
✩
Though she could have sworn she was not hungry Amalia's stomach has other ideas, rumbling loudly as Maea produces the pastries. With a small smile of gratitude the baker takes it between her hands, a pang of nostalgia for her own bakery, her own work, sharp in the middle of her chest. "Thank you," she says softly, shaking her head at the offer of tea. "Evie brought me some from her shop earlier. It was quite good- I'm sorry I don't have any to offer."
She takes a delicate bite as Maea responds, still not able to eat much in a sitting but relishing the flavor nonetheless. So far she's been largely relegated to soups and grains: it is nice to taste something of her trade, even if she was not its creator. Alas, the sweetness is offset by her own mounting bitterness, Maea's remarks about stories and heroes eliciting a snort of derision and a shake of her head.
Sighing, Amalia studies the bun. "I never wanted to be a hero." That was always you. "I just wanted to be good enough." Good enough for her mother, her grandmother, her friends, her gods. Good enough to be worthy of the world, and where had that drive gotten her? Lying in the infirmary, unable to move her legs, while Maea of all people offers her food and flowers.
Turning back to Maea, Amalia fixes the other girl with a black eyed stare, carefully inspecting the pale face. "Do you ever wish things could go back to how they were before?" Before they lost their families, before the barrier came down, before the world grew so much bigger and they had to grow up just as fast, or else risk being left behind.
She takes a delicate bite as Maea responds, still not able to eat much in a sitting but relishing the flavor nonetheless. So far she's been largely relegated to soups and grains: it is nice to taste something of her trade, even if she was not its creator. Alas, the sweetness is offset by her own mounting bitterness, Maea's remarks about stories and heroes eliciting a snort of derision and a shake of her head.
Sighing, Amalia studies the bun. "I never wanted to be a hero." That was always you. "I just wanted to be good enough." Good enough for her mother, her grandmother, her friends, her gods. Good enough to be worthy of the world, and where had that drive gotten her? Lying in the infirmary, unable to move her legs, while Maea of all people offers her food and flowers.
Turning back to Maea, Amalia fixes the other girl with a black eyed stare, carefully inspecting the pale face. "Do you ever wish things could go back to how they were before?" Before they lost their families, before the barrier came down, before the world grew so much bigger and they had to grow up just as fast, or else risk being left behind.
