[se] the ones who sing in the dead of night

Amalia It reminds her of the bone bridge, but alive. That's what Amalia thinks as she wanders through the Oerwoud- it's alive, beautifully and spectacularly so, every inch of it singing praise and adulation to the care of Rae, the gift of Vi. Here the Old Gods exist in an abundance of glory that catches the breath in Amalia's chest, stripping away anxieties and leaving her wonderfully at peace. Barefoot she walks the length of the bridge, her great wings folded upon her back, a crown of red ginger woven in her hair, echoing the riot of color and life that marks this place. Curtains of vines hang on either side but Amalia stands with her face upturned, eyes closed as she basks in the sensation of life. She is happy, happier than she has been in ages, wonderfully at peace. It isn't to last - it never does - but in this moment the Archangel doesn't mind. It is enough to be right here, right now, and never mind the rest. reach for the stars: but child, first recognize the constellations of light you already carry inside you