with a reverence unimpaired

This is pointless. Amalia can see the fae's frustration, a mirror of her own. They will drive themselves into the ground this way, push and push until they break. Delah's blatant disdain for the baker's people, coupled with her willingness to sacrifice her own, rubs the girl all the wrong ways. She does not say the things that rise to her tongue, instead biting her lip in weary frustration, her thin face deepening into a harsh frown. Clearly Delah will tell her nothing, has written them all of as sinners, a avaricious god's mistakes. "I will leave," Amalia replies flatly, "If you let me take my friends." Long black claws have sprouted from her fingers: the girl would like nothing more than to grab the fae between them, grab the little pixie by her wings and refuse to let go until she at last concedes. It is only the remnants of Jyoti's star which keep Amalia still, a cold fire blazing inside her chest. Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.