A M A L I A
She does not need to open her eyes to sense the lights grow dim, the luminous radiance of the sun replaced by something else. For a moment hope wells up in the girl, unspeakable and beautiful and cruel, clawing at her throat. Have they come at last? Has her piety paid off? She does not fancy herself a prophet - knows, indeed, that she is unworthy, that when the gods return it shall not be to her, a baker, a bastard - but still she hopes, for she cannot help it- it is the human condition, after all.
Unsurprisingly, Vi does not answer her prayers, nor do any of her gods. They are locked away, captured and enslaved, or so she has been taught. prisoners of hubris, of their children, of the new ones, the things they built and bred. Oh, she has heard whispers of these New Gods, creatures of decadence and insolence, though this is her first personal encounter, her first time seeing one in the flesh. She is prepared for desecration, for filth and despair. She is not prepared for grace. Her eyes flutter open, and though the hope falters, it is replaced by an unwillingly reverence, a forced sense of awe. The figure that looms before her is female, dark and beautiful, perfect in construction, and for a moment Amalia can only stare in open wonder and admiration at the goddess, her lips parted slightly in a whispered "Oh."
The figure speaks, but the girl scarcely listens, too deeply entranced by the way the light glitters in the goddess' infinite gaze. It is the addition of Not anymore that jolts Amalia from her reverie, reminds her that despite its beauty this thing is an interloper, a figment of greatness she is bound to ache against. Almost unwillingly she averts her gaze, letting it drop from the woman's eyes to her perfect knees, her beautiful toes. "Why did you come to me?" she questions softly, "When you know my fealty is to them?" The baker feels woefully inadequate by comparison, angular and ugly and alone. What could this goddess want from her- and how can she deny a deity, even if it be one she has been raised to loathe?
