AmaLiA
the archangel
Color drains from Amalia's face as Gideon names the attackee: Arialla, a girl the Angel knows, who'd been so earnest and lost when they'd met. But she'd been saved by the Priest, of all people... Almost speculatively the girl looks back at Gideon, as though seeing something in him for the first time. "It's fortunate you were there," Amalia murmurs softly, without a hint of guile or mockery in the notes of her voice.
Maybe it's this that lowers her guard, makes her more receptive to Gideon's suggestion that she take more of a stand. She puts the remnants of her sandwich back onto her plate, looking somewhere around Gideon's chest as color rises in her cheeks. "Maybe... I could go with you, next time. To talk to people. If you think it would help?"
That the Grounds has built firmer borders is no surprise to Amalia, though it pains her to learn. She snorts derisively, clenching her hands on her lap; "Wessex said I'd always be allowed home," she mutters back flatly, her faith in the promise (or lack thereof) clear. "All the more reason to save what we can, as soon as we can."
Maybe it's this that lowers her guard, makes her more receptive to Gideon's suggestion that she take more of a stand. She puts the remnants of her sandwich back onto her plate, looking somewhere around Gideon's chest as color rises in her cheeks. "Maybe... I could go with you, next time. To talk to people. If you think it would help?"
That the Grounds has built firmer borders is no surprise to Amalia, though it pains her to learn. She snorts derisively, clenching her hands on her lap; "Wessex said I'd always be allowed home," she mutters back flatly, her faith in the promise (or lack thereof) clear. "All the more reason to save what we can, as soon as we can."
you're breaking your own heart
