The ghost has a voice, measured and calm. It does not give an answer, except to say Hello, but even so Amalia eases, finding small comfort from the willingness to reply. There is familiarity in the measured tone, memories of music once heard long ago. It reminds her of her mother, but everything does, here, and the girl knows better than to look at the living and see the dead.
It - he - comes so slightly closer; Amalia resists the urge to shrink back, suddenly unsure she wants to be seen. Grip tightening around Jyoti, the quiet girl waits in silence, her clear discomfort starkly in contrast with his quiet comfort, his gentle questioning.
Yes should be the answer. Yes, she is okay, and then some. She has friends now, family, something that could be love: she has purpose, companionship, a place within the world. Yes, she is miles beyond okay. She is thriving, striving toward the light, accomplishing everything she could ever want.
So why does she still feel hollow, dull, a space within her unable to fill, cast ever in shadows and shrouded by dust?
"I don't know," she answers honestly, and her narrow shoulders slump. "Are you?"
It - he - comes so slightly closer; Amalia resists the urge to shrink back, suddenly unsure she wants to be seen. Grip tightening around Jyoti, the quiet girl waits in silence, her clear discomfort starkly in contrast with his quiet comfort, his gentle questioning.
Yes should be the answer. Yes, she is okay, and then some. She has friends now, family, something that could be love: she has purpose, companionship, a place within the world. Yes, she is miles beyond okay. She is thriving, striving toward the light, accomplishing everything she could ever want.
So why does she still feel hollow, dull, a space within her unable to fill, cast ever in shadows and shrouded by dust?
"I don't know," she answers honestly, and her narrow shoulders slump. "Are you?"
Amalia & Jyoti
born from dark water, daughters of the rain and snow
