Amalia
only lonely hid the morning from the stars
✩
The rain continues to roll overhead, the soothing pattern of a summer storm. To Amalia, it is a rhythm not unlike her heartbeat, thunderous and riotous, a drummer's steady beat. He does not reassure her - he would not be so cruel, so mortal as to offer false platitudes, and while Amalia would like to be comforted, held, she appreciates too the faith of his favor, the strength of his honesty. She wishes there was a solution, though, a step she could take, an offering she could give: her work, her heart, her soul, her life, if only it had enough value to restore the thing that is nearly lost, to cure the wounded being. If Ronin could be saved-
But Amalia holds her tongue. She knows better than to question a god, especially this god, her god, the one she has waited for all of her life. Vi is wisdom and infinince, beneficence and life. She has not called him here to doubt him.
But oh, she wants to see Safrin again.
She does not expect him to harden, though she cannot be surprised when he does. She, too, is worried by the woods, the spreading sin and machinations of a diabolic being. But when the iron of his gaze falls on her, the girl is taken by surprise; and when the temple fades into endless night, nothingness stretching around them at once, Amalia knows that this moment, among all others, is the one that will define her coming life.
Whose work do you do? Do not lie to me.
Judged, witnessed, called to testify, Amalia feels her mouth run dry. Whose...? And her dark eyes meet his, an exhaled reply rising simply to her lips, honest and ardent and hopeful and pure, the only thing she knows with certainty. "Yours," she whispers, admits, sings, her voice impassioned, her soul given freely to the god she adores. "Vi, I... I have always tried, to do the best I can. To be... To be enough." Amalia has never believe herself to be adequate, to be good, but Safrin told her she was, once upon a dark and lonely night. Safrin gave her faith, and strength, and the belief that she had value.
Safrin showed her Vi's face that day, and Amalia carried it with her forever more, emblazoned on her heart.
"All I have ever wanted is to live in your service. To do the work of Life." Even when you were gone, I loved you. Even when there was nothing but night, I waited for your dawn.
But Amalia holds her tongue. She knows better than to question a god, especially this god, her god, the one she has waited for all of her life. Vi is wisdom and infinince, beneficence and life. She has not called him here to doubt him.
But oh, she wants to see Safrin again.
She does not expect him to harden, though she cannot be surprised when he does. She, too, is worried by the woods, the spreading sin and machinations of a diabolic being. But when the iron of his gaze falls on her, the girl is taken by surprise; and when the temple fades into endless night, nothingness stretching around them at once, Amalia knows that this moment, among all others, is the one that will define her coming life.
Whose work do you do? Do not lie to me.
Judged, witnessed, called to testify, Amalia feels her mouth run dry. Whose...? And her dark eyes meet his, an exhaled reply rising simply to her lips, honest and ardent and hopeful and pure, the only thing she knows with certainty. "Yours," she whispers, admits, sings, her voice impassioned, her soul given freely to the god she adores. "Vi, I... I have always tried, to do the best I can. To be... To be enough." Amalia has never believe herself to be adequate, to be good, but Safrin told her she was, once upon a dark and lonely night. Safrin gave her faith, and strength, and the belief that she had value.
Safrin showed her Vi's face that day, and Amalia carried it with her forever more, emblazoned on her heart.
"All I have ever wanted is to live in your service. To do the work of Life." Even when you were gone, I loved you. Even when there was nothing but night, I waited for your dawn.
