Amalia
stop thinking so much
She rises when the prayers are done, the oversized shirt still hanging to her thighs, warm in the sanctity of his home. He, too, appears to have finished his evening rituals, each of the plates meticulously washed and laid upon the counter, neater and more fastidious than she. Tilting her head, Amalia smiles, anxiety beating thunderous in her chest as he turns to make his way to the stairwell and all it represents. For a moment he is poised, control, a monolith in his kingdom, a statue to salvation preparing now to rise.
And then the moment breaks, as it always does, severity given way to mirth and challenge, humor and delight in the antics of youth. Deimos' long legs uncoil like a shot, and it takes the girl a moment to so much as react- but only a moment, and scarcely that. Laughing, Amalia leaps toward the stairs, her body twisting in mid air as she takes on a distinctly avian form. Small and swift she ascends the stairs, beating wing and hoping to spiral under his arm and past him, to claim victory in talons and beak.
Amalia shifts back as she reaches the bedroom, dropping down, breathless, into his bed. "Did I win?" she asks him, rising up onto an elbow to grin up at the behemoth, his shirt half open upon her chest and dangerously risen up her thigh. Flush cheeked and grinning brightly, the Shield regards her Sword with fondness, all anxiety lost to play.
you're breaking your own heart
