Amalia
stop thinking so much
The cup fits comfortably in her hand, starlit and lovely with curls of steam; she raises it carefully to her lips, smiling at him over the brim. An eyebrow raises toward the bottle of wine: "Trying to get me drunk?" she drawls, a little bit of color in her cheeks, laughter in the lines around her eyes. Idly she wonders if he will partake, if she will see him merry and brazen, if tonight is the night they will once again sing. She would like to hear his voice raised in uproar, to see him grin and dance and cavort, would love to be the cause of his merriment, the thing that ignites his radiant smile. She would like to sit in peaceful silence, to enjoy the company of one another with out the pressure of small talk and scenes. She would like to exchange stories of exploits, to share each piece of her distant childhood, to learn every tale behind his scars.
It does not matter what they do, so long as she does it with him.
She takes a bite of the mincemeat pie, humming appreciatively at the taste, her lashes fluttering comfortably closed as she savors the result of their labor of love. It is not until she takes her second bite that Deimos breaks the silence, and Amalia glances sharply at him, smiling around the bite of food. "Mmm- I got done early, actually," the baker admits, swallowing down the forkful of pie. "So I thought I'd go to war with the blackberry bushes. They're absolutely incorrigible at this time of year." Amalia shakes her head, mischief in her onyx eyes as she watches for his reaction. "It turned out they suspected something, because they put up a terrible fight. It was close, I barely escaped with my life." She rolls up her sleeves to display the battle scars, scratches lining her knuckles and limbs.
you're breaking your own heart
