Shield Meet Crown

The woman's smile is unnerving, more predatory than friendly, marked by malice and ill intent. More than ever Amalia wishes she could simply wink away, vanish into nothingness and retreat into the night. Once, not so long ago, she had considered approaching Zariah herself, giving the woman an opportunity to explain and hear, to show she cares about the opinions of those who have been born and raised within this cage. But Zariah has made it brilliantly apparent that the only opinion she cares about are the ones she's formed herself. Still, Amalia visibly bristles at the mention of her family, something dangerous close to fury rising at the implication that she is not well-raised. "It is a coward who speaks ill of the dead," she snaps before she can hold it back, color rising on her cheeks, defiance on her tongue. Shit. Clenching her jaw the girl steps back, a series of prayers for patience and protection swirling though her head. Vi, give me the strength to do right by my people. Mort, give me patience to keep from killing her where she stands. Zariah steps forward and Amalia steps back, instinct drawing her away from the predator, the beast who stalks her here. A part of her mind screams and howls that she is a predator, too; she can feel the leopard growl beneath her, feel the fur under her skin. But she is the owl, too: pious, watchful, a little bit wise. It is that strength she tries to summon, feathers sprouting in her hair as she grips rh crimson staff, each of Zariah's thin-veiled insults another blow against her pride. Frowning, confused, Amalia continues to stare, unsure what it is Zariah wants. "Why?" Why are you here, why do you lie, why why WHY? "As you say- I am only a baker, barely more than a child. I don't understand why you've sought me out." Idly she wonders if she could shift into feline form and simply slink away. There is nothing that she can give Zariah, that others haven't tried. Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.