sound the bugle now

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind Amalia's eyes follow Kristopher's head as it spirals away, leaving fungus in its wake. A fitting end to a mechanical thing, and had the girl been in a better state of mind she might have appreciated the return to nature, been pleased with this turn of events. As it is she withers beneath Frey's nonchalant scolding, her narrow shoulders slumping in quiet defeat. She had thought she did right - tried to do right - but again, as ever, she had been wrong. She is always wrong. Turning back to Frey, the girl blinks again, her cheeks flushing hot as she gets an eyeful of attractive, amorphous genitals. Unable to keep her gaze downcast, Amalia looks up and meets their own- beautiful, infinite, in a way entirely different than Safrin's but equally as appealing. It is a strange thing, to be attracted to something as it scolds you: she wants to reach out and touch the being as strongly as she wants to recoil away, her stomach rolling with the warring emotion, her respiratory system still aflame. Every word is a slap, a stab, a wound on her skin and soul. "You're right," Amalia croaks with a sigh, slender body drawing further into itself, deep voice small and strained. "I was selfish, I..." She searches Frey's eyes, their beautiful face, for some sign of... of... of something. A map for what steps to take next. A guideline she should follow. Maybe she knows, but at this point she doesn't trust herself enough to believe in what she thinks. She came here for guidance and has received none. She is a lost thing, a broken thing, a shadow of herself. "I should go back," the girl breathes, though a shock of fear fills her at the thought. "I should go back and try to stop them... no matter what it costs." the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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