Amalia
why else are we here if not
Amalia bristles as Phoebe misinterprets her words, the accusations a painful reminder of the mistake she already made with Nephele. Staring down at the grain of the table, the Shield sets her jaw unhappily, wincing as the Nightengale throws out names that are guaranteed to hurt. "You know that I follow Vi. You know I wouldn't do that," Amalia murmurs, looking up at Phoebe through eyes like flint.
"I want to stop the Voice. The Order hasn't promised me anything," Her alto voice is sharp, hurt by the insinuation that this is somehow an attempt to gain... what? "But they did tell me they wanted prevent a war without shedding any blood or taking any lives. And I can't ignore the possibility of that being real, even if I don't like the men who make the offer."
"I want to stop the Voice. The Order hasn't promised me anything," Her alto voice is sharp, hurt by the insinuation that this is somehow an attempt to gain... what? "But they did tell me they wanted prevent a war without shedding any blood or taking any lives. And I can't ignore the possibility of that being real, even if I don't like the men who make the offer."
to live with unreasonable passion for things?
