and like the moon, she had a side of her so dark
even the stars couldn't shine on it
"You were at my mercy then, and we both know it."
Maybe Amalia should have been kinder; maybe she would have been, on better days. But the truth is she is desperately tired of tiptoeing and politics, and has never been good at the intricate dances that everyone who engages in them seems to manage with such skill. And Rexanna seems to be on exception: not answering her questions but placing herself into a position of equal, friend, when clearly they are not. And if Rexanna meant to set her more at ease by bringing up the Blight she is woefully mistaken.
The Shield looks back up at the Penumbra silently, wondering what she means by her statement, suspicion and exhaustion clear in her face. "What are you planning that would make me hate you?" And what could Amalia possibly do to stop it, in her current state?
Sighing, she leans back on her hands, legs still motionless and affixed to the floor. "What would a Historian be, anyway? And why do you want me for it? And, yeah, what's the rest of this council - the rest of your plan - and how will it be any different, Rexanna? We've gone through more governments this year than there are seasons. Forgive me if I don't place much stock in the institution you Outlanders are so insistent we primitive Naturals desperately need."
Maybe Amalia should have been kinder; maybe she would have been, on better days. But the truth is she is desperately tired of tiptoeing and politics, and has never been good at the intricate dances that everyone who engages in them seems to manage with such skill. And Rexanna seems to be on exception: not answering her questions but placing herself into a position of equal, friend, when clearly they are not. And if Rexanna meant to set her more at ease by bringing up the Blight she is woefully mistaken.
The Shield looks back up at the Penumbra silently, wondering what she means by her statement, suspicion and exhaustion clear in her face. "What are you planning that would make me hate you?" And what could Amalia possibly do to stop it, in her current state?
Sighing, she leans back on her hands, legs still motionless and affixed to the floor. "What would a Historian be, anyway? And why do you want me for it? And, yeah, what's the rest of this council - the rest of your plan - and how will it be any different, Rexanna? We've gone through more governments this year than there are seasons. Forgive me if I don't place much stock in the institution you Outlanders are so insistent we primitive Naturals desperately need."
a side of her so cold
even the sun couldn't burn it
Amalia
