Amalia
the shield of safrin
Half of her wants to throw the pastries on the ground, to demand answers instead of sweets and tea and bewildering niceties. Instead she takes one and places it in her mouth, biting down, eyes falling shut in open enjoyment of the sweet, rich taste. "These are good," Amalia murmurs, raising the remainder to eye level. "My grandmother used to make something similar, but not the same. I always preferred savory." Firm flavors. Straightforward.When at last he grows direct the Shield almost wishes he hadn't. The topic shift is sudden, unexpected, moving from sunlight and tea parties to darkness and war with rather dizzying speed. "Yes." Yes, there is a war brewing, as much as they choose to overlook it, to deny it in the Grounds. It has been coming since the barrier fell, and before.
Since she spoke the word to free the Voice.
"Is that why you're here? Because of the Voice? To rally people against her?"
someday we'll find what we're looking for
or maybe not
maybe we'll find something much greater
