AmaLiA
the archangel
"What about here?" The fire burns brighter, as Amalia considers this new possibility. "Why not speak to the people of StormBreak first? We can invite the other demigods, give them a chance to truly meet us - and to learn the truth about what we've seen of the Voice." Not Cian's pared down version, not myths passed through the ages. A true informational session, about all they have missed, sequestered in their tower as they are.
What drove Wessex to the Voice? The same thing that drives everyone, Amalia thinks, a small sigh leaving her coral lips. "Grief. Fear. There was a sickness, some years back. It took her family... and mine." She clenches her hand in her lap, closing her eyes against the memories of loss. "It was... terrible. There was nothing we could do. So I turned to the Old Gods, and she to the New."
The person you knew has died. Amalia's eyes clench more tightly as tears spring up behind her lids, threatening to spill over. Anger, grief, the very things that kept her in the dark for so long - they swim invitingly, beckoning her back to isolation and dark. "He was already dead," the not-Shield murmurs, nails biting into her palms. "And it was my fault. It's my fault he's like this."
When her dark eyes finally return to Gideon they are hard as flint, glittering, her face a mask of hard determination that hides her softer grief. "You're right- I need to do something, Gideon. I just... I don't know what."
What drove Wessex to the Voice? The same thing that drives everyone, Amalia thinks, a small sigh leaving her coral lips. "Grief. Fear. There was a sickness, some years back. It took her family... and mine." She clenches her hand in her lap, closing her eyes against the memories of loss. "It was... terrible. There was nothing we could do. So I turned to the Old Gods, and she to the New."
The person you knew has died. Amalia's eyes clench more tightly as tears spring up behind her lids, threatening to spill over. Anger, grief, the very things that kept her in the dark for so long - they swim invitingly, beckoning her back to isolation and dark. "He was already dead," the not-Shield murmurs, nails biting into her palms. "And it was my fault. It's my fault he's like this."
When her dark eyes finally return to Gideon they are hard as flint, glittering, her face a mask of hard determination that hides her softer grief. "You're right- I need to do something, Gideon. I just... I don't know what."
you're breaking your own heart
