Amalia
If she wants to make amends, she has a strange way of going about it. Amalia glares down at the woman, listening through flattened leopard ears as Roana makes her case. Something within her shifts a little, not soft, not forgiving, but maybe understanding, a glimmer of empathy beneath the rage. Amalia knows what it is like to feel lost, to be a bundle of contradicting mistakes and not know her place in a changing world. She knows what it is to be lonely, and grieving, and to lash out at the world because of her pain.
But Amalia is not Roana. She has struggled, and fought, and stumbled, and grown. No longer the orphan who lives in the library, she has opened a bakery, summoned the Spark Bird, stood before the Spire, stepped beyond her cage. She has become bigger through her trauma, not smaller: and as the proud woman kneels before her, she knows what she must do. Kneeling down to stare into Roana's face, she does not smile, but her expression becomes something less than pure fury, hard and worn in the afternoon light. "Your intentions mean nothing," she says, not unkindly, but as a statement of fact. "Your actions do. You think you're some great villain of our mythos, that we misunderstand and revile you, but the truth is you don't matter. You are not the only one responsible for the things that happened. The spire being breached, the Voice escaping, the blight that is now threatening the forest beyond- that is the responsibility of all of us. Everyone who let the New Gods win. Including me."
Rising wearily, Amalia reaches out once more with her staff, pushing it beneath the woman's chin in an attempt to force her to meet her gaze. "You want to be better? Then do. Contribute something. Learn. Don't live your life as a tired martyr, demanding that that strangers beat the crap out of you because you're too afraid to actually do the work. I don't give a shit about your guilt. I will not absolve you. You want to make amends? Do it."
But Amalia is not Roana. She has struggled, and fought, and stumbled, and grown. No longer the orphan who lives in the library, she has opened a bakery, summoned the Spark Bird, stood before the Spire, stepped beyond her cage. She has become bigger through her trauma, not smaller: and as the proud woman kneels before her, she knows what she must do. Kneeling down to stare into Roana's face, she does not smile, but her expression becomes something less than pure fury, hard and worn in the afternoon light. "Your intentions mean nothing," she says, not unkindly, but as a statement of fact. "Your actions do. You think you're some great villain of our mythos, that we misunderstand and revile you, but the truth is you don't matter. You are not the only one responsible for the things that happened. The spire being breached, the Voice escaping, the blight that is now threatening the forest beyond- that is the responsibility of all of us. Everyone who let the New Gods win. Including me."
Rising wearily, Amalia reaches out once more with her staff, pushing it beneath the woman's chin in an attempt to force her to meet her gaze. "You want to be better? Then do. Contribute something. Learn. Don't live your life as a tired martyr, demanding that that strangers beat the crap out of you because you're too afraid to actually do the work. I don't give a shit about your guilt. I will not absolve you. You want to make amends? Do it."
