Amalia
only lonely hid the morning from the stars
✩
He comes.
There is no part of her which expected this. An answer, for one; that the answer would come from Vi; that he would be merciful, somewhat unperturbed, eerily forgiving of her vast number of sins. Amalia gasps as the wind rises, her eyes flying open, hopeful and alight. She expects to see Safrin there, the goddess made whole - she prays for it, yearns for it, though she doubts it will be true. But the voice that soothes her is not Safrin's, and the figure who stand at the window is one she has never seen before, but one she would know in any light, under any circumstance, at any scene.
"Vi...?" she whispers into his presence, his name a reverent song on her tongue.
She does not rise, but her eyes remain on him, transfixed, awed, adoring, afraid. What do you wish to say? Now that she has him, now that he is here, Amalia finds herself tongue tied, unable to find the words to describe what he means to her. She has said all the things she wishes to say, a million prayers whispered and hummed, sung and slept through, laughed and cried. "I..." she begins, and bites her tongue.
There are a million things she would like to say, but only one that matters, now.
"Is she going to be okay?"
There is no part of her which expected this. An answer, for one; that the answer would come from Vi; that he would be merciful, somewhat unperturbed, eerily forgiving of her vast number of sins. Amalia gasps as the wind rises, her eyes flying open, hopeful and alight. She expects to see Safrin there, the goddess made whole - she prays for it, yearns for it, though she doubts it will be true. But the voice that soothes her is not Safrin's, and the figure who stand at the window is one she has never seen before, but one she would know in any light, under any circumstance, at any scene.
"Vi...?" she whispers into his presence, his name a reverent song on her tongue.
She does not rise, but her eyes remain on him, transfixed, awed, adoring, afraid. What do you wish to say? Now that she has him, now that he is here, Amalia finds herself tongue tied, unable to find the words to describe what he means to her. She has said all the things she wishes to say, a million prayers whispered and hummed, sung and slept through, laughed and cried. "I..." she begins, and bites her tongue.
There are a million things she would like to say, but only one that matters, now.
"Is she going to be okay?"
