Amalia
For my part, I know nothing with any certainty
They are quiet, hesitant, just like her, so few speaking, so few willing to take on the role. And can she blame them? She herself has shied away, hesitated and avoided any sort of responsibility. Leadership is not one of Amalia's qualities, or so she tells herself again and again. The very thought of it sends anxiety riveting up her veins, her palms sweaty and her mouth dry.She can't do it. But someone must.
And someone does. A smile crosses her face as the starboy stands, taking the burden he was reborn into. She is proud of him, impressed and relieved; the content does not matter as much as the fact that someone else is speaking. She listens to Ronin, listens and waits for someone - anyone - else to reply, to throw their hat into the ring. But Wessex isn't here (where is she?) and everyone else is silent, silent as the grave. So when Ronin stops Amalia stands, her hands on the table, her shoulders pulled up. "Wessex isn't here, but... I know she would be, if she could. Something must have kept her. She's a natural, and an... an Ascended, and she cares about this place, and us."
Swallowing, the girl sighs. "So I guess... I guess it's between Wessex and Ronin. Please write an R or a W on a slip of paper and put it in the bowl, and then I'll count." There is paper on the table, and charcoal, and a bowl. Taking a paper herself Amalia sits back down, sketching out a single letter and slipping it in the bow.
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but the sight of the stars makes me dream
