Amalia
the shield of safrin
some birds sing when the sun shines bright
She remembers it well: finding the qilin lurking within her, stronger and larger and more than anything else she had ever been. Amalia nods in understanding at Sunjata's explanation, scoffing a muted laugh when he mentions the lightning connotations. "I heard about that. Deimos told me. Before-"
Well.
Breaking off abruptly the girl stares down at her lantern with a fixed, focused gaze, suddenly very interested in making the copper wiring take the shape she wants. Unsuccessfully, as it turns out, because her hands are trembling and her jaw is set and she's being tossed around by her tumultuous thoughts. How has she been?
"I left Deimos." The words leave her before she has a chance to think them over, and in the wake of them Amalia closes her eyes. She hadn't meant to talk to Sunjata, of all people, about this, and yet there's something in telling your mistakes someone who doesn't much like you - or at least, doesn't care. It's freeing, almost, because she expects him to be either indifferent or to blame her, both of which would be welcome. "Right after Kiada - his adopted daughter - died under my watch, and you guys fought the sea panther, so really at the cruelest possible time. Then everyone got sick... my brother became a murderer... my only friends left... and I'm supposed to be some sort of demigod, but all I do is mess up and hurt people. So yeah, I'm doing great."
A mirthless laugh leaves her, angry and bitter as waves of self-loathing wash through the Attuned bond like the tides of the sea. He was right, she was wrong, and she hopes he's happy.
One of them ought to be.
"How 'bout you?"
Well.
Breaking off abruptly the girl stares down at her lantern with a fixed, focused gaze, suddenly very interested in making the copper wiring take the shape she wants. Unsuccessfully, as it turns out, because her hands are trembling and her jaw is set and she's being tossed around by her tumultuous thoughts. How has she been?
"I left Deimos." The words leave her before she has a chance to think them over, and in the wake of them Amalia closes her eyes. She hadn't meant to talk to Sunjata, of all people, about this, and yet there's something in telling your mistakes someone who doesn't much like you - or at least, doesn't care. It's freeing, almost, because she expects him to be either indifferent or to blame her, both of which would be welcome. "Right after Kiada - his adopted daughter - died under my watch, and you guys fought the sea panther, so really at the cruelest possible time. Then everyone got sick... my brother became a murderer... my only friends left... and I'm supposed to be some sort of demigod, but all I do is mess up and hurt people. So yeah, I'm doing great."
A mirthless laugh leaves her, angry and bitter as waves of self-loathing wash through the Attuned bond like the tides of the sea. He was right, she was wrong, and she hopes he's happy.
One of them ought to be.
"How 'bout you?"
our praise is not for them,
but the ones who sing in the dead of night
but the ones who sing in the dead of night
