[Mini Event] Greet Your Queen

Amalia I took the stars from our eyes and I made a map I knew that somehow I could find my way back Things go as well as she might have expected, and worse than she might have hoped. She is grateful for those who gather around her, the wall of familiarity acting as bulwark to her ire. Deimos and Ronin, Remi and Jigano, Kiada and Melita and so many more. She smiles to each in turn, feeling a little lighter, a little calmer, a little more secure. The three starmotes that circle her have nestled within her hair, and Amalia is glad for that, not wanting to call attention to herself, content to listen and simmer and scheme and let others more eloquent plan the world. And then Zariah is there, and the girl slips her hand into Deimos', squeezing hard as anger begins once more to boil in her veins. The self-styled Queen cuts an unimpressive figure: not so intimidating, not so serene, no better than any of the rest of them. She remembers her from the night in the woods, the fight by the Spire, the aftermath, and little more: as someone tied into the heart of this community, Amalia has never observed Zariah to be particularly involved. But the invitation for questions and concerns is something, at least, and the baker thinks of Phoebe and grits her teeth, willing to at least pretend she is able to give this charade of a monarch a chance. And oh, does the monarch blow it. One by one she blows away any directed ire. Either with practiced answers or muddling smoke: Amalia cannot make out much substance in the things Zariah is saying, but enough to tell that there is little for some of the retorts. 'I made this forum to speak freely,' in one breath, and 'an audience not an open forum,' in the next. The way she obfuscates is dizzying, infuriating, and Amalia can feel rage like fire rising beneath her skin, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as more and more drivel is spouted from her lips. What gives you the right? she wants to scream, What makes you think that we need your laws, your rules; that we are the same as the place you are from, that the same systems are needed here? Who did you ask, who did you turn to? Do you know our ways, our gods? All these thoughts and a million more: they boil and simmer behind her eyes, leaving her iron, steel, flint, a molten core beneath onyx and sun. Nails like claws curl into her palms, sharp enough to puncture skin; her breath is fast and heavy, her body shakes, and a feline snarl hides behind her lips. How easy it would be, she thinks, to step up there and tear her down, to rake her claws on that pretty face the same way she did the notice, to- 'Walk that line, Amalia Chandrakant. Embrace that mortal folly, and do the work of Life.' With a shuddering breath Amalia sighs, her fists slowly uncoiling, her shoulders growing soft. No, she will not hurt Zariah, will not let her anger win. She has a purpose, a promise, a mission from her God to walk the line of Life and Death and remain upon Vi's side. And while there are more words to be said, the queen makes it clear she does not wish to hear them, an the baker is not bold enough to say them here, in such a crowd. Instead she reaches out mentally to those she trusts, a silent message passed along, knowing it will be spread to the right people. There are things to say, but this is not the time or place: this is a farce, a spectacle, a false Queen's attempt at holding a show. The Hollowed Grounds deserve better than this, and in Vi's name she shall make it so. Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too So I stayed in the darkness with you