no amount of guilt can change the past && no amount of anxiety can change the future
They walk around the Hanging Tree upon a boardwalk of light, hand in cold, bloodless hand. She tries not to think about that too hard: how cold he is, how his hand doesn't have a pulse to if, how if she cut him with her sword he wouldn't bleed, only ooze a lifeless fluid.
She turns away quickly, focusing on the path ahead. Looking at him is wonderful, but it aches.
The question Adam poses is innocent enough, and yet Amalia finds herself growing red, the tips of her ears hot and visible even as she keeps her face turned away. "It wasn't Ronin," she corrects immediately, "And I... I dunno. After you... after, I missed you so much. I thought about you all the time." Gently she tries to disengage their hands, to wrap her arms around herself. Long nails clench anxiously at her skin, and her toes curl as she shuts her eyes. She hasn't told anyone about these thoughts, about how deep her mourning went. How much she wanted him back.
"I guess it carried over into my dreams. I'd dream that we... Gods, it doesn't matter. They were just dreams."
She turns away quickly, focusing on the path ahead. Looking at him is wonderful, but it aches.
The question Adam poses is innocent enough, and yet Amalia finds herself growing red, the tips of her ears hot and visible even as she keeps her face turned away. "It wasn't Ronin," she corrects immediately, "And I... I dunno. After you... after, I missed you so much. I thought about you all the time." Gently she tries to disengage their hands, to wrap her arms around herself. Long nails clench anxiously at her skin, and her toes curl as she shuts her eyes. She hasn't told anyone about these thoughts, about how deep her mourning went. How much she wanted him back.
"I guess it carried over into my dreams. I'd dream that we... Gods, it doesn't matter. They were just dreams."
Amalia
