(Open) Paws upon the Stones of Many Colors

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help Amalia listens with intent curiosity, though her eyebrows raise at the idea of turning into anything. "Like... rocks?" she asks before she can stop herself, curiosity taking control of her tongue. And then there's the clothes, which has her looking at the garish yellow suit in new light. "So your clothes are- were- part of your body? Can- could- you change them? Or is it like removing skin? Did you have them when you shifted?" The possibilities are both fascinating and unsettling, earning a shudder through her spine. That he's met Sunjata quenches her somewhat, annoyance flickering briefly over her face. "Don't feel bad," she responds automatically, crossing her arms over her chest. Of course she brightens at the mention of the gods, glancing back at Gideon with something almost akin to mischief. "Gideon is a Priest of the Old Gods; I'm sure he can speak of them with far more eloquence and accuracy than I," Amalia states seriously, only the faintest edge of sass in her alto voice. a m a l i a 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