with a reverence unimpaired

Amalia takes a half-step forward, then another, reluctant yet utterly unable to resist, her bare feet pressing into grass inexplicably soft, soil inexplicably rich. It is bewilderingly beautiful, entrancing and overwhelming. The tulmhainar is the entire world, every smell and every taste and every molecule of being: and above it all, the tulmhainar's voice ripples in her mind. Inhaling deeply, her eyes flutter closed, dark lashes brushing against her cheek, and when she opens them again she is somewhere else, and the tulmhainar is there but not there, a dark figure rising against the setting sun. Amalia spins around in surprise, taking in the change of scenery and trying to understand. "My name is Amalia," she answers softly, drawing nearer to the table but not quite willing to sit down. "Where... where are we?" she asks aloud, wary and intrigued. "Is this the work of the gods?" For what else could it possibly be? Who else could be responsible for such strange beauty, a world concealed in the woods upon a turtle's back? Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.