make peace with your broken pieces
There are flowers growing in her hair, but she's not sure that they're real. It's hard to pinpoint what is and isn't anymore, what's happened and what hasn't, who she is and who she was and where she's supposed to be. She'd spent time back in the Hollowed Grounds but it had left confused and lost. She'd come back to Torchline looking for her compass, but all she'd found were shadows and the crashing, roaring sea.
There's another shadow coming towards her now, except this shadow is bright. From her position hiding from the sea she watches it, dark eyes unsteady as she tracks its progress, not sure if she should run from it or towards. Slowly it begins to come into focus, legs and arms and a familiar face solidifying into an almost familiar specter on the sand.
"Rooooniiiiin?" Amalia asks, her head tilting down onto her knees, her alto voice full of strangely melodious grave. There's horns curling up out of her sweat-drenched forehead, and it looks like she's been wearing the same dress for days. "I haven't- I was gonna- Are you sick, too?"
There's another shadow coming towards her now, except this shadow is bright. From her position hiding from the sea she watches it, dark eyes unsteady as she tracks its progress, not sure if she should run from it or towards. Slowly it begins to come into focus, legs and arms and a familiar face solidifying into an almost familiar specter on the sand.
"Rooooniiiiin?" Amalia asks, her head tilting down onto her knees, her alto voice full of strangely melodious grave. There's horns curling up out of her sweat-drenched forehead, and it looks like she's been wearing the same dress for days. "I haven't- I was gonna- Are you sick, too?"
shield of safrin
