and all this devotion was rushing over me
She thinks it's foolish to hold onto this pain, and yet she cannot say anything to the sort. Amalia guards her own pain jealously, clinging to wounds and memories that have shaped her into what she is. A hand drifts over to her left wrist, rubbing at the scar that is no longer there, taken by Loren without her assent. "Taking the pain away doesn't make us any less," the girl murmurs softly, though whether to Falke or herself is unclear.
The sound of the pencil dropping draws her eyes up, snapped towards Falke's face as he gives his honest reply. Amalia nods, her lip sucked in between her teeth; "Then you know," the Angel says, her dark eyes vivid and piercing, almost relieved. She keeps her attention on his face for another breath, trying to confirm that he gets it, before dropping his gaze again.
"Three of the returned... were that for me. My best friend. His lover. My husband's foster daughter." Fists open and clench in her lap, hard, and Jyoti croons a sympathetic note. Remorse and guilt are easy enough to read on Amalia's face, even without Falke's training. Shutting her eyes, the girl lets out a sigh. "They all died on my watch."
The sound of the pencil dropping draws her eyes up, snapped towards Falke's face as he gives his honest reply. Amalia nods, her lip sucked in between her teeth; "Then you know," the Angel says, her dark eyes vivid and piercing, almost relieved. She keeps her attention on his face for another breath, trying to confirm that he gets it, before dropping his gaze again.
"Three of the returned... were that for me. My best friend. His lover. My husband's foster daughter." Fists open and clench in her lap, hard, and Jyoti croons a sympathetic note. Remorse and guilt are easy enough to read on Amalia's face, even without Falke's training. Shutting her eyes, the girl lets out a sigh. "They all died on my watch."
Amalia
