Amalia
the archangel
some birds sing when the sun shines bright
The second time around is less alarming, to be sure, though the electricity that crackles through his lips still sends a reciprocal shiver down Amalia's spine. The horn glitters with remnants of blue light; Amalia waits a moment for it to fade, awed and a little afraid, before drawing close enough to take it gingerly in her hands. Power seems to thrum from within it, and Amalia runs a finger down the length of the bone, feeling her hair rise in response. "It's perfect," she breathes, glancing up to Sunjata. "Thank you."
Gathering up her lantern materials and the unicorn horn, Amalia begins to make her way towards the empty house before pausing, glancing back. "I... I was going to make some food, if you wanted to join," the girl offers hesitantly, an olive branch of sorts. It isn't friendship, but it's a step down from the animosity they've historically shared. "Up to you. Either way, though... thanks, Jata."
And with that she ducks into the doorway, not sure if she's hopeful that he'll follow or not.
{fin <3}
Gathering up her lantern materials and the unicorn horn, Amalia begins to make her way towards the empty house before pausing, glancing back. "I... I was going to make some food, if you wanted to join," the girl offers hesitantly, an olive branch of sorts. It isn't friendship, but it's a step down from the animosity they've historically shared. "Up to you. Either way, though... thanks, Jata."
And with that she ducks into the doorway, not sure if she's hopeful that he'll follow or not.
{fin <3}
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
