take a sad song

A m a l i a "Tobi," the girl repeats, rolling the syllables around on her tongue. She has no idea what the word actually means, whether it's a promise or a lie. More than ever Amalia resembles a child, reaching out desperately for some form of guidance and finding her hands empty again. "I'm Lia," she murmurs, as much to herself as to the other, a younger girl's nickname that rarely sees the light of day. "Do you know what's wrong with me?" Again the wide-eyed, hopeful look over knobby knees. Again she sees a face that isn't the one that's there, remembers darker eyes and angled features and an impenetrable, elusive smile. "Can you help me? Please?" Another shake of her head, golden hair moving limply on her neck. "I don't belong to Mort," she explains patiently, as though this were the most obvious thing. "I belong to Vi. Safrin told me. He made me something else, but I don't know what it means." She rolls her shoulders in a shrug, and had October been behind her the doctor may have seen a ripple of feathers on a tattooed back, something else itching to break free. 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