I sailed seas of emotion to wander a forest of scars
I am a dance of light and darkness, a galaxy of shadow and stars
I am a dance of light and darkness, a galaxy of shadow and stars
The condescension she reads from his tone causes Amalia to stiffen, hometown pride rising up in a fierce wave. "I grew up in Sanctuary," the girl remarks, her voice crisp and cool. "It's a community. We did the best we could, and we took care of each other." All in past tense - these days things have changed so much, she scarcely recognizes her home.
She listens tensely to his careful explanation, the way he dodges the question immediately setting the Shield on edge. It reminds her of Dorian and his evasion, of Phoebe's mistrust. "I have no love for the Voice," Amalia shoots back tersely, anger flaring in her eyes. "And the things the Ascended do in her name. But many of them had no choice, and even those who see through her lies can't abandon her for fear of her wrath. They're victims in this, even the guilty ones, and I would see them treated with justice rather than- than- than condemning them all to death!"
By the end of her tirade, Amalia has changed. Fire glitters in her hair, which is adorned in a crown of small, thorny roses. Two antlers bud upon her forehead, and her leopard ears are flush upon her skull. She glares at Gideon through defiant dark eyes, her cheeks flushed with fervor. The Priest has no way of knowing how tired the Shield is of being asked to condone the massacre of the Ascended- but gods, has he struck a nerve.
She listens tensely to his careful explanation, the way he dodges the question immediately setting the Shield on edge. It reminds her of Dorian and his evasion, of Phoebe's mistrust. "I have no love for the Voice," Amalia shoots back tersely, anger flaring in her eyes. "And the things the Ascended do in her name. But many of them had no choice, and even those who see through her lies can't abandon her for fear of her wrath. They're victims in this, even the guilty ones, and I would see them treated with justice rather than- than- than condemning them all to death!"
By the end of her tirade, Amalia has changed. Fire glitters in her hair, which is adorned in a crown of small, thorny roses. Two antlers bud upon her forehead, and her leopard ears are flush upon her skull. She glares at Gideon through defiant dark eyes, her cheeks flushed with fervor. The Priest has no way of knowing how tired the Shield is of being asked to condone the massacre of the Ascended- but gods, has he struck a nerve.
Amalia
