[se] woven web of dreams
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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#1
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
She had hoped to find a basket but instead she found a tree, overwhelmingly gorgeous in a forest of beauty, with bark like skin and a city of roots. Coming upon it had been unintentional, but not unwelcome: Amalia had allowed Jyoti to lead as she collected supple sticks, content to follow the curious starwhale, trusting in her soulmate's ability to guide. Singing softly, they are a strange pair, almost ethereal among the trees. Starlight and sunlight they flutter and dance, thoroughly enjoying the shade of the forest, the respite it offers from an oppressive heat.

By the time they reach the ancient tree they have collected a great deal of (all fallen - they know better than to pluck from this foliage) branches, supple and fit to be bound up with twine. All of that work is quickly forgotten as a new wonder rises into their sight. Amalia gasps, her onyx eyes glowing as she looks upon the goddess, childlike elation blooming in her breast. There is only one thing to be done, one step to take, one answer to an unsaid question.

Surprisingly light on her feline feet, Amalia scrambles up onto the wood, her branches tucked securely in her bag. Barefoot, arms extended, the girl balances lightly on elevated foundations, easily finding a comfortable stride, leaping dexterously from root to root and in search of the perfect place to settle and work.
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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#2
MELITA
Melita had yet to truly encounter the Wildwood, skirmishing and skipping along its outer columns for a few days, itching to embark, but only reliant on the rumors of captures from floating parchments on the notice boards. Though she was typically daring and audacious, curiosity bending her into a formidable, potent little sprite, she was also hesitant to march straight into the lion’s den when the ominous reaches were there, right in front of her, not just ghosts, mirages, or delusions.

But eventually, inquiry won over (a buzz, a symphony, a glow of desires and questions in her head, willing, begging, pleading with her to simply go and see what the rest of the world had already discovered) and she and Fangorn leapt their way through the brush, canopies, and undergrowth. Wiser individuals had always scolded and lectured the youth for her boldness, but also openly encouraged it, and she was not about to be caught in the crosshairs of those fixations, pressing her feet lightly into the ground, before nimbly launching away, like a deer, floating effortlessly beneath boughs.

Fangorn often stopped, sniffing the air, sliding his enigmatic, eerie gaze to the forest floor, and the girl would cease too, grabbing hold of a few broken branches, sticks, and twigs that looked like potential, that bit into the words Roana had mentioned, about baskets, about capturing the sun. They certainly weren’t dried reeds, but given enough pressure, they might yield and conform to something similar; and it would be just like her character, to embark on a harder task for the thrill of it. “Will these do?” She inquired and hummed to the gourd, and he seemed to shrug, as one without shoulders best mustered, and she piled them into her arms, meandering further and further still until they came to a giant tree.

“Wow,” was all she could express, mouth agape at its magnificence, at its monumental size, at the roots coming straight from the ground, like miniature towers and monoliths. Her eyes widened, displaying all the youthful exuberance suddenly clustered along her fingers, her movements, her motions. She itched to stand below its threshold and simply stare for the longest of times, revel in its presence, beatific and grand; reminding her of those summits, those cliffs, along the Dragon’s Throat. Fangorn growled, inclining towards another nestled amidst the branches and roots, and the girl almost dropped her wares. “Sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here.” But she recognized the baker, considered her a friendly face, and a grin spread along her lips, instead of a regretful tide, instead of a reluctant measure – all the more beckoning and incandescent when she caught sight of the starwhale. “Oh my goodness! You’re amazing!” Melita positively squealed, and finally did lose all composure, inching closer, but not reaching, not without permission, towards the little companion ignited and implored by stars, still carrying the bundle in her arms.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,962
MP:
#3
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
The throne she chooses to sit upon is tucked among the roots, wide enough to give her shelter, high enough to give a view. No small amount of climbing was required to reach her perch, but with feline features and balance (if not grace) she is able to crest one towering limb, depositing her wares in the a beautiful space, carved perfectly for her. For a brief time Jyoti sits alongside her, watching with interest as Amalia works. Soon, however, the calf grows bored, leaving their haven to further explore, always in earshot and eyesight of the girl.

Some progress has been made by the time another appears, the bottom of a basket beginning to form beneath Amalia's skillful hands. It is far from perfect: the weave is wide, the shape somewhat flat, but the baker doubts that precision is needed for a basket to catch the sun. Jyoti sees them first, the fire-haired youth and her animate gourd stopping in awe of the towering tree. Her companion's spike in interest alerts Amalia, who raises her head like a frightened deer, fear running rivulets across her skin. The starwhale does not know to be wary of the Fae, but Amalia remembers keenly net and knife, her fight against the pit and claws upon her throat. She drops her work and rises to her knees, claws appearing on fingernails, cream fur sprouting from narrow shoulders, a leopard's ears upon her head.

Oh, but she knows them-! Amalia relaxes noticeably, her intent stare easing into a cautious smile as she looks sheepishly down upon the child. "Not to worry," the baker replies. "You caught me by surprise." Many things have, since LongNight, since the pit- but Amalia does not think about that, does not look down that dark path. Instead she traces Jyoti's trail and the calf responds to Melita's interest, ever delighted to receive attention, singing and spinning and swimming a ring around curious youth.

Settling back down, Amalia smiles and tilts her head. "What brings you into the woods?" The sunlit baker looks up, trying to see any companion, someone to watch Melita's back. "Did you see any Fae?" she adds, slightly concerned, knowing that the winged sprites are likely watching as they speak.
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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#4
MELITA
Too fast, too unpredictable, she’d bordered on the impulsive and impetuous, and she should’ve known better, heralded from the gaping chasms of malice and menace before. There was an instant, a brief, stark moment, where the monsters had come out to play – her eyes widened, her fingers clenched and balled into fists – and then it was over, like it’d never began, and the warmth glided from the baker again. Melita’s head swam with the possibilities and probabilities of what she’d seen – a tinge of fur, the rounding of ears not quite human, and then released the breath she’d held, tucked inward, sparked along her lungs; wavering away from it and the acrimony she might’ve instigated – unaware, silly, foolish. She would’ve hung her cranium and begged for forgiveness, for intruding and trespassing where she clearly wasn’t wanted, but the cautious smile, the sheepish fringes lingering on Amalia’s features prevailed her to stay; they’d simply stumbled into a yawning cavern of threats and blinding unknown. “Sorry,” she mentioned anyway, believing an apology necessary along the frayed strands and seams, her intentions never overbearing or overwhelming.

Her eyes pieced together the starwhale and its antics though – the glowing trails of stars and diamonds nearly herald tears to her gaze, so inspiring, so amazing, so beautiful, so majestic, and her inquiries were barely matched: how had she acquired such a lovely little companion? What was it? Her fingers ached to trace over its skin, over the remnants of celestial beings and wakes, a creature of the heavens, despite her never being capable of finding, procuring, or meeting any of her own. “Curiosity,” she managed at first, still revering the dancing whale as it teased and sang around her; adding her own hum to the mixture and melee, bright, warm, and cheery in the cascading intervals, between the canopies and roots. “I haven’t journeyed this far before,” was a whisper, as if she intended to explore every damned avenue, nook, and cranny she could find; not even remotely bothered by the possibilities, by the threatening glances, by the trials and tribulations that could have easily slid her way. Perhaps it was confidence and arrogance; she’d seen so many things before, or just an asinine, foolish grace, believing herself capable of the demons, monsters, fiends, and fey walled up in the cavernous worlds. Her eyes eventually flickered to Amalia’s basket, and then she recalled the things once laden in her arms, put down when inquiry overrode any other tangible thing. “I was going to make a basket,” and she surveyed the gathered wood, gathering it back up in her arms, another wink extended to the whale.

Then she focused on the baker, on the concern laden in her final question, on the squalls and storms tucked and hidden away in tempestuous glens. “No,” shaking her head, tossing crimson curls and locks. Have you seemed like an innocuous question; because just by the sight of her, Melita could tell something had frayed at the ends, had strained at ribbons, fire, and boughs. Perhaps she’d been too quick. Perhaps she’d been too quiet. Or perhaps they’d left her alone, for she had very little to offer them. "What brings you out here?" rippled along the girl's throat instead, a warm smile residing, protecting the amiable from the memories of misfortune.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,962
MP:
#5
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
Amalia did not mean to frighten. Indeed, she cannot think herself frightening, so it is easy to forget that the rising fur and rumbling growl may cause alarm. Settling back to human form, she brushes off the girl's apology with a shake of her gilded head, smiling awkward at the second apology, wildly and painfully self-aware. Please stop, the woman wants to plead. You are too young to be afraid of bakers in the sun.

She does not say that, is spared by having to say anything further by Jyoti's relentless jovility. The calf sings merrily under Malita's gaze, clearly delighted by the attention. It makes Amalia soften and smile to see them interact, the starlit whale and the fiery youth, a mismatch pair united in boldness. It is hard for the girl to feel afraid, concerned, when the starwhale starts her dance. Even in these uncertain woods she is eased and comforted by the song.

Amalia nods her silent agreement, a smile pulling at her lips. Curiosity is as good a reason as any the baker gas ever had: the only reason, much of the time, a compulsion besting constant in her veins. "It is beautiful in the woods," the girl says softly, though there is an edge of warning in her tone. "But dangerous, too." She thinks of wings and rustling branches, of almond eyes staring from behind the trees.

Surprise ripples freely in her expression when Melita names her purpose here. "Me too! Though I am not doing so well. Care to join me?" She gestures to her place on the tree, the broad root large enough to hold them both. It is something of a climb, at least six feet, but somehow she doubts Melita would mind.
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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#6
MELITA
Between the starwhale’s song, exultant joy in its splendor, in its decorum, and Amalia’s intonations, a foreboding, extended warning, Melita’s grin was hazardous, treacherous, as dangerous as the woods she was supposed to fear. A portion of her had once been numbed to primal, innate terror and trepidation; she’d seen, experienced, and learned too much in the threads of the Rift, bending and barbaric, chasing down demons before they could get her, her family, her friends. “What lurks here?” She wondered aloud, pondering if Amalia would answer forthrightly or not; or if Melita was doomed to another visit, another exploration, later on, wrapped in those curious, inquisitive, audacious gestures, following curiosity because fortune once favored the bold, and the elemental fire in her soul never threatened to dim, to extinguish, beneath the push and shove of life.

But then there was basket making to be had, same purposes caught along roots and tree-limbs, and there was no hesitation left in her body, no more nuances holding or tethering her behind. With one last slide of her fingers along Jyoti’s star-dusted skin, she maneuvered, she advanced, Fangorn left at the bottom of the mighty tree, as she clambered and climbed, experienced in the art of shifting from bark to bark, from bough to bough. “Yes!” She ascertained with an obvious grin when she was nearly there, branches, bramble, and wood in hand, several reeds collected in there in hopes of garnishing or garnering something worthwhile. It might have been a tower, a colossus, this mighty monolith in the forest, but she paid it no mind, gave it homage in gentle footsteps and coaxing, petal soft movements; light and airy, ethereal and beneficent. When she finally arrived, she chose a spot close to Amalia, sundry kinship, before unloading her wares along the broader contortions of an upraised root. “How do we start?”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#7
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
"I don't know." Amalia is always forthright: it is in her nature to be so, a bluntness tempered by anxiety, honest answers to honest questions so long as acceptance is granted. "The Fae are skilled at blending among the trees, and the forest is alive to their needs. There is a war-chief who disapproves of humans in the woods, a goddess who will teach you its ways for a price, a turtle with a world on its back..." She shrugs, knowing this is but s fragment, the smallest portion of a greater puzzle which makes up the Greatwood. It is marvelous and magical, dangerous and dark- but staring down at Melita's gaze the baker can see fire, and doubts that any warning would keep the girl from the world.

She smiles as the youth begins to climb. Jyoti spirals down to investigate Fangorn, fascinated by the moving gourd who wanders through the grass. Settling back into her nook Amalia waits for the girl to arise, her half-begun basket back in slender hands. Melita, miraculously, is better equipped, having collected  flexible reeds. Eyeing the equipment with silent approval Amalia smiles and nods, raising her beginnings of a coarse net to show to the younger girl. "I started in the middle with four flexible sticks as a frame, but honestly? I'm making it a up as I go"
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 892
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#8
MELITA
The youth was an avid listener when she wanted to be, taking the intervals and intricacies of the Fae and molding them to the forest being alive; elemental, ethereal things, in the boughs, in the trees, in the leaves, in the roots, in the feral outlines she would gladly fall into. The notions of a war-chief already irritated by their presence, a goddess who taught things by barters and trades, a turtle who contained the globe on his spine…ordinarily they’d be fanciful stories, like words granted by her mother, eager to tell and every tale to her grasping daughters. Here though, she can believe these things are true to form and life: imagined them in the back of her mind, coaxed to fruition on beautiful, outstretched limbs, dancing on the breeze, never taken apart by the wind, by the rain, or by the storms; tempests in their own right. “That sounds amazing,” she proffered instead, not waylaid or haunted by the warnings layered within, still brazen, still tempted, still mired and marred by her inability to wander into anything but impulse and impetuousness.

Jyoti and Fangorn are joined on the ground, while the baker and the honeybee girl flittered about the trees – Melita watched for a few seconds as the gourd bounded along the leaf litter and moss, enticing Jyoti’s stardust and songs to follow (all the more intrigued; better than the ghostly, haunting, eerie shades he often displayed). Then her eyes meandered back to Amalia’s basket and the beginnings of its woven pattern; a brindle of impatience settling along her brow and mind, because this was something her sister would have loved to do, and something Melita could barely tolerate. Sitting still, concocting, and struggling to assemble an artifact were not actions she often possessed; she shifted a little, scooting closer to the gilded woman, to spy upon the tresses, plaits, and sticks, pondering if there was a certain way, a certain angle, in which to better align. In the end though, Amalia admitted she was simply making it up – and Melita laughed. “Good enough for me!” She took her more flexible sticks as recommended, leaving the rougher, stronger ones for future developments, then grabbed her reeds, intending to weave them back and forth, starting with a base and going from there. When it didn’t look like a dilapidated mess, she was more than satisfied. Perhaps she could do this! All the whle, she hummed under her breath, tongue stuck out as she concentrated, pulsing out words here and there. “I tried some of your bread with Rexanna at the festival. It was delicious.” Her gilded eyes and beatific grin sparked to the lady, then slid back to her basket, starting to take form.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#9
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
"It is." Amalia cannot prevent the breath of exhilaration, the awe which exhales from her lips as she remembers adventures in the past. Watching Melita dance across the boughs, the baker tilts her tawny head, watching the fire-haired maiden with a certain fondness of memory. Perhaps she sees a bit of herself in the younger girl's stance, the wild and wily playfulness that Amalia could have been. "Wings would suit you," she muses softly, a thoughtful smile on her lips as the redhead settles in beside her, spreading sinew and supplies.

Together they work side by side, each making patterns from half-lost memory, neither particularly skilled in this craft. Surprisingly, Amalia is glad for company, happy to have her silence broken by Melita's strain of focused hums. To sit beside someone and be asked for nothing: it is a rare pleasantry, she think, a gift she did not know she needed.

Finally Melita breaks the silence, and Amalia looks up from her ongoing work. "Rexanna helped make them- and others, too. My grandmother used to have a big party before Fiat Lux, and invite anyone who wanted to come bake. Now it's mostly just me, though." The smile on her lips is fond but distant, memories dulling her vibrant eyes. Amalia misses those simpler days, when life made sense and the world was small.
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 892
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#10
MELITA
Wings would suit you was one of the nicest compliments Melita thought she’d ever received, a rosy, ignited grin unfolding across her face at the vivid expression. “How wonderful it would be to fly.” She would’ve liked to have been a Phoenix, like the Sparkbird, a ring and halo of fire around her, feathers spread in embers and ashes, cinders and infernos, dedicating herself to the world in either ruin or sanctuary. A winsome sigh flickered around her as she thought of thunder too, as it burned its way along her mind, days beneath storms and tempests, waiting for an egg to hatch, then losing it all. But she wouldn’t allow the Rift to take from her today – this one was for the summer wind and settled hearts. She hummed and crooned afterwards, again and again, giving and granting them no notes or stanzas because it would lose its beauty with her discordant, raucous voice.

Her hands melded and molded, braided and folded, and she wished her sister were there again, on the other side, working in tandem, laughing. Maybe she was amidst them in spirit, a piece of the grass, an intonation of the flowers, a buzz of the bees; and she shook her head once or twice to clear the cobwebs, the locks from her face, wishing and wanting to see ghosts.

Amalia continued to talk though, more about the bakery, about a place Melita has rarely visited. It was family that buzzed between those nuances though, ones lost and cherished, and the honeybee child could understand, could fathom, the bonds intertwined and then fallen, gone, vanquished, within the blink of an eye. She didn’t ask about them, didn’t tarnish them, but her smile softened, a complexion of filaments and strands, beatific notions without needing to bring them to the surface. “But it sounds like it’s not just you,” and here she laughed, a light giggle of mirth in the boughs of unknown gods. “Maybe you have more around you than you think.” Her hands glided, one pattern after another, the basket forming, finally taking a reasonable shape.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
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Posts: 1,962
MP:
#11
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
"It is wonderful," Amalia agrees, tilting her as if in thought, dark eyes string into the woods. She seems to be considering something, and eventually comes to some conclusion, turning back to Melita with a dreamy, vibrant smile. "Are you an Accepted, or Attuned? You could learn to fly. I did." Lifting her limbs in demonstration she lets the owl live through her, feathers rippling across her arms like a secret on display, a wave of them splaying between raised fingers before retreating back to her palms. Then she laughs, still awed by her own ability, the touch of gods upon her soul.

There is comfort in silence without solitude, in working with another and not feeling a need to act. Braiding in the ends of her basket, Amalia glances back at Melita, a shy blush creeping across her cheeks at the girl's sunny statement and laugh. "Maybe I do." Narrow shoulders roll in a thoughtful shrug as she considers the veracity of this fact, the people who have somehow gathered around her, creating a shield against the lonely world. Outlanders and Naturals, family and friends, lovers- with such strange ease they have filled the space, taken up room in her hollow heart.

Tilting her dark gaze toward the girl, Amalia wonders where she has come from, what stories live behind those fiery eyes. "What about you?" she questions softly, fondly, an invitation to divulge. "Do you have people here?" For Melita is an Outlander - it is easy for Amalia to pick them out - and the difficulty of finding community is not lost upon the gilded baker, who has lived here all her life.
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 892
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#12
MELITA
The agreement coiled between their shared expanse, and the girl’s grin never dampened or disappeared, listening intently as her hands worked on embroidering more reeds into her basket’s threshold and shape. “I’m an Accepted.” Her eyes lifted back to Amalia – watched, became a witness as owl feathers undulated where skin had been, tufts of plumes rising, a clap fluidly orchestrated with warm laughter by the honeybee girl. “Amazing!” But was that what she wanted, to become? Or was she safer there, on the ground, then beyond the canopies and stars, cloaked in nothing but her own power and strength? While she mused, while she pondered, the girl expressed the synapses and shortfalls of bloodlines. “My sister and mother had magic. My mother could heal. My sister could sing.” I could beat and promise and vow, she almost said, as if that were nothing in the face of so many other bright, beautiful things. I could protect. I could shield. But not enough flickered and clawed down her mind, and then she allowed it to waft away on the breeze, on the ether, on the wind, on the leaves.

Then she listened again, the quiet agreement that Amalia wasn’t alone, nodding in tune to the rhythm of her hums and croons again. The inquiry came back to her though, and it made her think, gave her pause. She had some she knew from another time, another place: Kiada, whom she’d chased away in her bitter, rancorous rage, and Rexanna, found from old stories and births of legends. But her family was fractured, gone, and dead, so she made no mention of them anymore – her heart hurt, beat against her chest and ribs and caged them all into a righteous anguish – so she lowered her head, staring at the craftwork in her hands, suddenly dissatisfying to her eye. “In a way,” she began, shrugging, but thinking better of it, raised her skull again to stare at Amalia and count her blessings, those she’d enraptured and those that had enraptured her since she’d fallen into this world. “I have a few mentors, like Wessex and Roana, who are teaching me how to fight! I have some friends too, like Ronin, Jigano, Vai, Remi, Emmett, and Phoebe…,” she visibly trailed off, trying to surmise all the ones she’d met and adored, a close-knit network of song and dance; already companions of hers whether they liked it or not. “And you, of course!” Her grin was quick and beautiful, resplendent in its rapture, before she bent back down to continue her work.
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight
Amalia Chandrakant
the Shield of Safrin
Hand of the Queen / Baker
Portal Guardian
Age: 22 | Height: 5'6 | Race: Attuned | Nationality: Natural
Level: 12 - Strg: 34 - Dext: 34 - Endr: 35 - Luck: 34
JYOTI - Mythical - Starwhale (Humpback)
Played by: charks Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,962
MP:
#13
Amalia
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
"I was born Accepted. I only became Attuned last year." Amalia shrugs slightly, an unsaid statement left within, an invitation for her to pursue now or at another time.  The baker cannot help but hurt for the fire haired girl alone in this world, the could the peal of a mournful bell, lost things ringing between the pair. "My mother could heal, too." It had been a point of contention between her mother and grandmother, the tension between Attuned and Abandoned, but it had been one of many in the end, a fight never resolved, left to die along with them both. Amalia is the only remaining piece, the only evidence of all those wars: scarred and shattered and alone, she keeps them alive in memories, for she has nothing else.

Except she does, doesn't she? Melita is right: the baker is less alone than she might think, unexpectedly surrounded by friends and family, new bonds blooming before she can realize it's happened. And Melita? Amalia watches through onyx eyes as the girl considers her question, another twinge of empathy slicing through her at the sight. But the firecracker youth is eager, enthused, quick to return to bright lights and happiness; Amalia admires the optimism, the way she laughs and smiles. An eyebrow raises at some of the names - Wessex especially gets her attention, and the baker wonders if the older woman is making a habit of collecting strays. The last declaration is a surprise, but a happy one, Amalia's face coloring brightly as she is included among the list. "And me," she agrees with a slight chuckle, reaching down with nimble fingers to tie off the last of her woven work.

Raising the semi-completed basket, Amalia regards it critically. "What do you think?" the baker asks, lifting it up to her face and peering through a particularly sizable hole, her voice wry with self-deprecating amusement. "Do you think I can catch the sun in this, or should I keep it as a mask?"
Melita Najya


Age: 19 | Height: 5'6" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 5 - Strg: 25 - Dext: 25 - Endr: 25 - Luck: 21
FANGORN - Mythical - Vampire Gourd
Played by: Heather Offline
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#14
MELITA
She listened – to the intonation of changes, of how she could allow herself to be altered if, when, she wanted – and Melita wasn’t even sure if that was something she desired. But the youth caught the reverberation of mothers, an invitation to talk, and she chewed her lip in thought, wondering how much should’ve been said, how much should’ve been kept to herself. All she had left of them were memories, moving pictures of shorn plants and singsong bouquets, rivulets of lilies and violets and thistles billowing against her skin, caught in the melancholy sway, in the heart songs. They were parts and pieces of her, somewhat untainted, unchained, precious in their paramounts and paragons. “My mother would always have us help her find herbs.” She shook her head, pretending to be concentrating on folding over reeds, on plaiting a basket that might not have been able to hold dust or air, let alone the bright, beautiful sun. Her locks cascaded in warm pools of fire, wishing she had more of it in her hands. “I was terrible at it.” A laugh, a raw, aching chuckle pulsed from her throat, a smile tucked around the edges of her mouth even when she wanted to quietly mourn. Her gilded eyes turned to Amalia’s onyx ones, the weight of sadness and loss heavy in their burdened, varnished gold, then shifted quickly back, as if she’d burned herself. “I don’t think I was ever meant to be much of a healer.” Too much vitriol and vehemence in her bones. Too many flames coiled around her embers. Too many boisterous, rancorous edges and curves rounding out her form. Too many knives and daggers poised from her fingers.

Amalia’s brightness shown through the dim apertures, and she permitted herself to breathe again, for her fingers to stop shaking in the quiet, hushed twilight, in the perpetual glow of starlight and luminary beams. Perhaps the baker sensed her eventual upheaval, because on a note, the girl’s head shot up to regard the basket as a mask – the shock of it all warmed her heart and coated her lungs in a vicious, ridiculous bout of giggles. She did the same to hers then, raising it up past her eyes, so they both looked equally foolish and silly, so that some part of her wasn’t torn away by old vestiges and heartache. Perhaps they looked like monsters, heathens, and fiends, the kind of Fae and spirits lost to the wicked doldrums of the enchanted realm, and she allowed a fiendish growl to unravel from her tones. “Oh, I think we could catch demons in these things!”
This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight


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