Amalia
the archangel
Despite where this day is destine to end, it isn't where it starts.
It begins outside of Cian's office, the day after Amalia's drunken adventure with Sera. After Adam- but she isn't thinking about that, or so she tells herself again and again, as though thinking about not thinking about it will somehow make it true. No, she's done with all of that, and it's for that reason she stands here, outside the office of the Eye, steeling herself once again to step inside and change her fate.
Amalia is dressed with surprising attention, wearing the teal open-backed shirt that Sera found her above a pair of clean black pants, her hair wrapped up a plaited wreath interspersed with small purple flowers. Most notable is Nova on her hip, its crimson cross-guard glowing faintly in the hall's dim light. Not often does Amalia wear the sword out on display, but it seems appropriate for this encounter, given what she is determined to ask.
Knock knock knock. Three raps, straightforward and quick, and then the requisite pause. She figures he already knows who it is - his secretary had told her he was there, after all - and so her hand shifts down to the knob, ready to let herself in.
It begins outside of Cian's office, the day after Amalia's drunken adventure with Sera. After Adam- but she isn't thinking about that, or so she tells herself again and again, as though thinking about not thinking about it will somehow make it true. No, she's done with all of that, and it's for that reason she stands here, outside the office of the Eye, steeling herself once again to step inside and change her fate.
Amalia is dressed with surprising attention, wearing the teal open-backed shirt that Sera found her above a pair of clean black pants, her hair wrapped up a plaited wreath interspersed with small purple flowers. Most notable is Nova on her hip, its crimson cross-guard glowing faintly in the hall's dim light. Not often does Amalia wear the sword out on display, but it seems appropriate for this encounter, given what she is determined to ask.
Knock knock knock. Three raps, straightforward and quick, and then the requisite pause. She figures he already knows who it is - his secretary had told her he was there, after all - and so her hand shifts down to the knob, ready to let herself in.
we drink the poison our mind pours for us
and wonder why we feel so sick
and wonder why we feel so sick
