I took the stars from my eyes and then I made a map
& I knew that somehow I could find my way back
How long has she been in here? A day? A week? A year? It feels like ages - the minutes ticking down with agonizing slowness, the sun taunting her as it marches its way deliberately across the sky, leaving shadows streaked across the floor where people walk through the day, taking their legs for granted.
Amalia took her legs for granted, once.
She's miserably bored, and she's too angry to admit it, so the boredom continues and the anger perpetuates and it's all a lovely vicious cycle. Amalia has been in rare form of late: something about being confined to a bed brings out the worst of the already volatile girl, and when she isn't exhausted she's in a fell mood, bored and resentful and still in pain.
So when Loren visits (another person to pity her, another face to look on her with sadness, Oh poor Shield, what good are you now?) it is a harsh laugh that meets his question of How are you feeling?
Petulant, frustrated, she does not reply as he begins to set out potions and books, though her black eyes are stormy as she watches him work. It's a sweet gesture, part of her knows, and she should be grateful- but gods, right now she just wants to scream, to throw them all back at the Summoner's face.
Turning her gaze back to the ceiling, the Shield shrugs, raising her arms for him to see. The bruises are mostly gone, and the bones have straightened, but she's still horribly weak, and her hands shake visibly with the simple effort of showing them off. "Hard to make shit when your fingers made of limp spaghetti, but, y'know. Nice thought and all."
Amalia took her legs for granted, once.
She's miserably bored, and she's too angry to admit it, so the boredom continues and the anger perpetuates and it's all a lovely vicious cycle. Amalia has been in rare form of late: something about being confined to a bed brings out the worst of the already volatile girl, and when she isn't exhausted she's in a fell mood, bored and resentful and still in pain.
So when Loren visits (
Petulant, frustrated, she does not reply as he begins to set out potions and books, though her black eyes are stormy as she watches him work. It's a sweet gesture, part of her knows, and she should be grateful- but gods, right now she just wants to scream, to throw them all back at the Summoner's face.
Turning her gaze back to the ceiling, the Shield shrugs, raising her arms for him to see. The bruises are mostly gone, and the bones have straightened, but she's still horribly weak, and her hands shake visibly with the simple effort of showing them off. "Hard to make shit when your fingers made of limp spaghetti, but, y'know. Nice thought and all."
then i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
so I stayed in the darkness with you
Amalia
