The Spark Divine

a m a l i a Amalia bows her head again, in quiet recognition of the being's words. To welcome Vi is to welcome Mort- it is true, she thinks as she stares at the antler. Her grandmother often said that to serve Vi in life is to be worthy of Mort in death; that the two, more than any others, were inexorably intertwined. But to a girl young and full of life, Mort has always felt like a distant thing, a song on a breeze which sometimes howled around her home but never rang in Amalia's heart. Until now. She has heard it, felt it, the alluring, chilling tune of death, the voice of Mort within her ears. She has heard her loved ones, her lost ones, and tasted the promise of release. Amalia yearns for that salvation, to be freed from the confines of her own tumultuous mind, the anxiety and guilt which plagues her thoughts. Even the deity's gentle attempts to absolve her of sins feels hollow; yes, they made a choice, but it was at her prompting, due to her desire to aspire, to serve. The relief she feels at the reassurance that none have died is palpable, but she has seen Rory's burns, Edrei's frantic gaze. They are alive, but they all wear scars. "What was the point of it?" she muses aloud, black eyes scanning the young figure as though an answer may appear upon its face. "I want to serve you, all of you- but maybe I don't know how." Ludo's offer is a beautiful one, a brilliant bridge to salvation, and oh, Amalia wants to take it. To see them again! To be without pain! It is an itch beneath her skin, a hunger in her gut. She stares at the goddess and aches, yearns. Jigano's voice is a distant thread, tugging at her mind. It is not enough, his pleading, though her heart twinges at the mention of friend. No, it is Isuma's soft interest the grabs the girl, saves her from falling prey to her own fear. The gentle touch of tiny paws, the inquisitive sound of an innocent thing: it pulls her away from her own misery; she blinks, suddenly aware of the others in the room. Looking down at the gryphon in her lap, Amalia's heart breaks. "I do want to go with you," the girl confesses, her voice heavy with yearning, desire. "I want to see them. I want to be free. But..." she pauses, inhaling and exhaling a shuddering breath. One hand releases from the glowing antler to entwine in the fur between the child's wings. She turns her gaze back to the goddess. "I don't think I have earned it, yet. I want to be better, before I meet them again. I want to have served Vi, to have made the most of the life he gave me. I want to make Mort proud to have me." She thinks of Safrin, the graceful goddess who promised her she was good. Amalia may not believe it, or agree, but she knows she has to at least try to live up to the love and acceptance of her gods, as much as it may hurt. Turning her dark eyes back to Ludo, Amalia asks the only question which sits constant on her tongue. "How do I make myself worthy, Ludo? How do I atone for my mistakes?"