take a sad song

A m a l i a The canteen, like the water inside, is cold. Amalia winces at the chill upon her fingers, closes her eyes in pain as the liquid touches her lips. It burns like the ice in the cave where Adam died, searing and scorching its way down her throat, but she craves it like a dying woman craves the mercy of death. Some of the water drips down her chin, onto her shirt, but most reaches her gullet. And it does clear her mind, if only for a moment. Lowering the now nearly-empty canteen from her lips, Amalia eyes it blearily. "Thank you," she murmurs, throat still burning from the cold. A shiver wracks her fevered body. She doesn't meet the woman's eyes as she offers the container back. "I... you should clean this. I think I may be sick." She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine