[PQ] [se] promise me that you'll leave the light on

They set to work in relative silence, each of them lost in thought and memory, quiet in their grief. Amalia takes a seat by Seiji, settling into the quartet quietly as each one chooses their material and begins to craft a frame. For her part the Shield goes for wire, an idea already clear in her mind, the image of what she will create. As her dexterous fingers weave the metal she attempts to make small talk, the silence growing oppressive in its constancy, like darkness flooding through her shop. "Ah... Weaver, right?" Alto voice soft and curious, the girl surveys this older woman who sits across from her, hoping to have gotten the name right. "Where are you from?" Not here, certainly, but perhaps not an Outlander either; curiosity dances in Amalia's onyx eyes. When they have managed to shape or clean their frames the baker once again stands up. Weaver's frame is of exceptional quality, Deimos' somewhat shaky from the use of hands instead of magic but still solid. Seiji, too, has managed to get the majority of the grime and rust from the lantern. Only Amalia has struggled with her creation: her skeletal star is bare and hollow, but the shape is there beneath the missteps and her plan is taking form. "Help yourself to the outside materials," she suggests softly, gesturing to the array of paper and fabric that brightens the shop. For her own part she collects her sheaf of paper: childish drawings of spirals and circles made by a young and inexperienced hand. Aoife's drawings, from a time long before, now to be re-purposed into a very particular gift. Weaver did an exemplary job of her frame, Deimos and Seiji did pretty well, and Amalia had a bit of a strug. Choose the outside of your lantern! No order Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.