She is surprised when he stops in the door, moreso when he turns around, hope and worry bubbling uncomfortably in the girl's gut. Hard as it is to reconcile her feelings of inadequacy, Amalia is determined to try, and grateful that he is giving her a second chance. Her smile is awkward, youthful and insecure; she grabs her left arm anxiously, rubbing at the scar on her wrist. Ronin has every right to hate her, to leave her to the empty bakery and her own mistakes.
But somehow he doesn't, and it makes him a better man than she would be.
"Shouldn't be much longer," she says, half distracted, her tongue falling silent as she suddenly realizes she has nothing prepared to follow up. Fidgeting, she looks away, dark eyes scanning the floury counter, the dusty windows, the sneaking sun. "I'm sorry," Amalia murmurs at last, unwilling to look back in his face. "For your losses, and the challenges you've had to face in my world. It isn't... a kind place, but at least we grew up with it. I can't imagine what it must be like, being ripped from what you know and spat out here." At last she glances up at him, earnest honesty in her open expression, an olive branch offered to bridge the gap.
But somehow he doesn't, and it makes him a better man than she would be.
"Shouldn't be much longer," she says, half distracted, her tongue falling silent as she suddenly realizes she has nothing prepared to follow up. Fidgeting, she looks away, dark eyes scanning the floury counter, the dusty windows, the sneaking sun. "I'm sorry," Amalia murmurs at last, unwilling to look back in his face. "For your losses, and the challenges you've had to face in my world. It isn't... a kind place, but at least we grew up with it. I can't imagine what it must be like, being ripped from what you know and spat out here." At last she glances up at him, earnest honesty in her open expression, an olive branch offered to bridge the gap.
Amalia & Jyoti
born from dark water, daughters of the rain and snow
