Amalia
the archangel
It is late in the night when they reach their destination: Torchline's Court of Stars. A grandiose name for a grandiose building, but not one Amalia can fault. Her own love of Safrin makes her love the building, stark and unnatural as it feels in the Port: manicured, marble, a transplant of Stormbreak more than the riotous chaos of Haulani. Still, she cannot help but shiver as she walks within its halls.
Or maybe that is simply because of the task that brings her hence.
Sam is with her, held by light, her brother bound and brought before her, a poisoner of war. But his crimes exist outside the shadow under which they stand, she reminds herself: he is a murderer, witnessed and confessed, and what she's doing is right.
It's right, she repeats on an endless loop. It's right. It's right. It's right.
Finally they reach a guard who has the good sense to look quite bemused by the Angel and her prey. He agrees to go in search of someone to whom Amalia might surrender her prisoner - the sooner the better, the girl thinks, anxiety a knot within her chest.
Or maybe that is simply because of the task that brings her hence.
Sam is with her, held by light, her brother bound and brought before her, a poisoner of war. But his crimes exist outside the shadow under which they stand, she reminds herself: he is a murderer, witnessed and confessed, and what she's doing is right.
It's right, she repeats on an endless loop. It's right. It's right. It's right.
Finally they reach a guard who has the good sense to look quite bemused by the Angel and her prey. He agrees to go in search of someone to whom Amalia might surrender her prisoner - the sooner the better, the girl thinks, anxiety a knot within her chest.
we drink the poison our mind pours for us
and wonder why we feel so sick
and wonder why we feel so sick
