AMALIA
She wants the silence but fears the solitude
She wants to be alone and together with you
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snowTime passes and the pair presses on, hand in hand beneath the moonless sky. In time, the night begins to brighten, though it is not dawn which lights their path but lanterns. Dancing, dim, the flame-lit creations dot barren trees in the dark wood, casting soothing shadows and drawing the ghosts like so many pale moths.
And at the center of them all, Ludo stands. She knows it to be it despite the change in appearance, the young and boyish form. Amalia bows before the masked child, the lantern dancing lightly upon her crimson staff. Almost wistfully her black eyes watch as the spirits drift away, each one seeking another lantern, each light plucked from a hopeful hand at the festival of lights. She recognizes many of them, recalls them from the years stretching back.
One in particular catches her eye. Delicately painted scenes on glass: a forest of trees, a smattering of flowers. Amalia aches at the recognition of her grandmother's handiwork, but she is proud to see it here, among the lights. Looking back at Ludo the baker smiles, her hard face grateful as she regards the being.
And at the center of them all, Ludo stands. She knows it to be it despite the change in appearance, the young and boyish form. Amalia bows before the masked child, the lantern dancing lightly upon her crimson staff. Almost wistfully her black eyes watch as the spirits drift away, each one seeking another lantern, each light plucked from a hopeful hand at the festival of lights. She recognizes many of them, recalls them from the years stretching back.
One in particular catches her eye. Delicately painted scenes on glass: a forest of trees, a smattering of flowers. Amalia aches at the recognition of her grandmother's handiwork, but she is proud to see it here, among the lights. Looking back at Ludo the baker smiles, her hard face grateful as she regards the being.
