even when i was a child
i’ve always known there was something to be frightened of
i’ve always known there was something to be frightened of
It's not unlike watching a flock of birds in some ways, the movements of the crowd chaotically in sync as everyone mills about, comfortable in their urgency, at ease in such an uneasy place. Next to them Amalia is a sore thumb, a streetlamp placed on the wrong corner. It is no wonder, then, that October is able to find her so quickly, this cat among the birds. Amalia is keen and attentive, her dark eyes darting eagerly from figure to figure, soaking up the comings and goings and utterly missing the one walking towards her until their orbits intersect.
A blink of surprise, a jerk of her head; Amalia startles, turning towards the source of the voice with black eyes wide and a blush rising on her cheeks. "Oh, Oc- um, Doctor Hart," the Archangel stammers, shy surprise softening the hard edges of her face, making her seem younger. "I didn't- that is, I'm fine. How are you?" A lame attempt at small talk, but the girl's previous experiences with October have been awkward and brief, a vague memory of fever-fueled hope for connection spiking in her brain.
Somewhere nearby a squabble breaks out, catching Amalia's attention. She turns from the doctor to peer over the crowd, but the commotion fades almost as quickly as it rose, the conflict governed by a set of rules the Archangel cannot understand. She frowns, tucking stray a lock of hair behind one of her ears. "Is it always so... busy?"
A blink of surprise, a jerk of her head; Amalia startles, turning towards the source of the voice with black eyes wide and a blush rising on her cheeks. "Oh, Oc- um, Doctor Hart," the Archangel stammers, shy surprise softening the hard edges of her face, making her seem younger. "I didn't- that is, I'm fine. How are you?" A lame attempt at small talk, but the girl's previous experiences with October have been awkward and brief, a vague memory of fever-fueled hope for connection spiking in her brain.
Somewhere nearby a squabble breaks out, catching Amalia's attention. She turns from the doctor to peer over the crowd, but the commotion fades almost as quickly as it rose, the conflict governed by a set of rules the Archangel cannot understand. She frowns, tucking stray a lock of hair behind one of her ears. "Is it always so... busy?"
