you drew memories in my mind I could never erase
painted colors in my heart I could never replace
Quietly amused by the swarm of curious children, Amalia is content to take a step back and let Ronin bask in his new admirers - that is, until he turns the tide on her, redirecting the stream of admiring youths. Anxiety and discomfort make her stutter in surprise, an accusing glare shot briefly at the Dark Star before she returns to her assailants. Bastard, she snaps without teeth through the bond, inaudible to the youths.
"I... I do. Nova. Its hilt is made from the shed antlers of a luxere." The children oooh appreciatively, clearly wanting to see the sword - not, the Archangel thinks, the best idea in a crowded swarm of energetic children. Time to turn the tables again. Leaning down a little, Amalia beckons the kids closer. "Actually," she stage-whispers, looking up at Ronin once more, "Ronin can turn into a luxere. Antlers and all. Maybe he'll show you, if you ask nicely."
And again the attention shifts, allowing Amalia an opportunity to step back, laughter written over her face.
"I... I do. Nova. Its hilt is made from the shed antlers of a luxere." The children oooh appreciatively, clearly wanting to see the sword - not, the Archangel thinks, the best idea in a crowded swarm of energetic children. Time to turn the tables again. Leaning down a little, Amalia beckons the kids closer. "Actually," she stage-whispers, looking up at Ronin once more, "Ronin can turn into a luxere. Antlers and all. Maybe he'll show you, if you ask nicely."
And again the attention shifts, allowing Amalia an opportunity to step back, laughter written over her face.
meet me where the falling stars live
Amalia
