[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind It is difficult to contain herself beneath the anticipation, to keep from curling up and over, allowing impatience to steal her fun. Amalia is not a patient child; she has never been one for machinations, plots and plans and cleverly laid traps. She prefers to watch, or not partake at all; when she does engage it is with gusto, an eagerness ablaze within her breast. To vault across the barrier stone, to land before him, wet and wild- these are the things the baker wants, the rhythm pulsed by her merry heart. Instead she sits, the searching motion of slender fingers a sole betrayal of skittering thoughts. Stones and sand are overturned, gathered into a growing pile as she waits, and waits, and waits. An eternity, and then again, time stretches in between them. Has he given up? Grown  bored with her- or does he have a retaliation planned, a greater onslaught than what she has prepared, a way to make her careful plans dissolve into the sky? Oh, no- on the contrary. Jyoti executes her part perfectly; it is all Amalia can do to keep from laughing, bursting and breaking into triumphant glee as a splash is followed by a bellow, his indignation and jubilation a welcome song to her ears. Triumph is theirs, and the man is drenched, saturated from head to toe by river water and stars. The whale calf croons her ardent delight, swimming circles around Deimos, undeterred by the waggling finger, the mock disapproval in his eyes. She grins, as best a cetacean can, blowing starlight in his features before pealing off to join her bonded on the other side of stone. There will be retaliation. Of this, the girl is sure. How he shall exact revenge, Amalia knows not: she is eager and ready to find out, however, butterflies beating iridescent wings against the walls of her chest. On her knees upon the ground, she does not expect his shadow above, nor the doplets of water which fall from his hair and body, dousing the baker in turn. Amalia spins to look upon him, black eyes wide with awe and glee. He is a tower, a colossus, an obelisk, rising above her, looming and dark. He might have been frightening- But oh, not to her, never to her. Amalia looks at the behemoth figure and can feel nothing but joy. Laughter and mirth poorly contained, the girl affects an expression of innocence, determined to keep up the facade even as it crumbles into a grin. Raising her hand to shield her eyes, the girl blinks thick lashes at him, trying to appear unassuming, naive. "Did you have a nice swim?" the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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