AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
She watches him intently, dark eyes trained upon his face, bright and uncertain and hopeful and aware. Any reaction, any sign- she expects disappointment at its lack of utility, a drop of his brow and a blink of confusion belying his lack of appreciation. It is a silly thing, she has decided, useless and pointless, only there to be pretty. And what need has the world for beauty, when it is a world like theirs where survival is paramount and need absolute?watching stars collide
She wavers and rethinks and flounders and fumbles, but Deimos does not let her fall. The man does not say anything eloquent, but this is unsurprising. He has never been one for sonnets or songs. But Amalia knows him: the wrinkle of his eyes, the arch of his brow, the way delight plays sweetly symphonic across his chiseled features, a tale of appreciation written in his smile. "I found the stone," she tells him shyly. "That day, by the river." She does not need to say which day- her quiet blush and intonation says more than any words, makes it apparent the time she speaks of, shared confessions in the sun. "I had the mason shape it like Jyoti... so it's from both of us." The starcalf backs this statement up with a cheerful coo and an aggressive onslaught, circling tightly around the man before settling in his hair.
Then it is her turn, and Amalia unwraps the package eagerly, not pretending to have control, to not be the impatient fire she is. A gasp is all she can offer, at first, quiet amazement and awed entrancement as the notebook comes into her focus. It is gorgeous, flawless, exquisite and amazing; she does not think she has gotten a gift so pointed, so perfect, in all her life. Speechless with wonder and delight and love, her face says more than her lips ever could as she turns it up to face the man, falling once more into blue. "I love it," she intones into the space between them, all the unsaid things clear within her voice. "Thank you, Deimos."
