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

Amalia Some voices you don't forget, no matter how long it's been since you heard them. Some people you don't stop loving, no matter how much the both of you have changed. Some wounds ache and fester for years, only to be mended in the breadth of an instant, the edges fused and the rot chased out by something as simple as a touch. Amalia's eyes open only a second before she's caught up in an embrace, but it is more than enough. There is no conscious thought to drive her, no fear or anxiety to still her hand; there is only a bone-deep, instinctive understanding which leads her to return the embrace in full, her long arms reaching for his shoulders, her wings outstretched to encompass him. "Adam!" a voice cries in shrill delight, and she doesn't realize it's hers. She's holding him as tightly as she ever has, terrified that to let go would be to lose him again. All the fear she'd felt at facing him feels so foolish now - of course she's happy, of course it's right, of course she loves him no matter what. It's Adam - her Adam - and the girl is laughing, her face aglow with joy and tears. "You're here," she whispers breathlessly, pulling back only far enough to look up at him, her palm laid softly on his cheek. "Gods above, you- you're really here." reach for the stars: but child, first recognize the constellations of light you already carry inside you