it is both a blessing and a curse, to feel everything so very deeply
There is a space that stretches out between them, and Amalia is reminded of the night with Wessex where bonds were irreparably cut. Those bonds never existed between the baker and Sam, yet part of her still aches at the distance, the separation that grows in the wake of religion, another price extracted by the Voice. They should be allies, bound by their backgrounds.
The Shield of Safrin sighs.
She does not answer his defensive question: the answer is obvious to her, and he must see it as well. But the declaration after makes her raise an eyebrow, glancing back over in surprise at his vehemence and bristling in kind. "I didn't say that." Her voice is clipped, her skin bristling, anger darkening her alto tone. She meets his hard gaze with her own, flint and iron meeting with sparks, frustration running along her nerves.
"But since you said it... the Blight is spreading. And it's eating and killing organic life. Not unlike the Voice." Now it is an overt accusation, a question beneath her steely tone. Isn't that strange, don't you care? "You said you didn't help the Voice. Not that she didn't spread it herself."
The Shield of Safrin sighs.
She does not answer his defensive question: the answer is obvious to her, and he must see it as well. But the declaration after makes her raise an eyebrow, glancing back over in surprise at his vehemence and bristling in kind. "I didn't say that." Her voice is clipped, her skin bristling, anger darkening her alto tone. She meets his hard gaze with her own, flint and iron meeting with sparks, frustration running along her nerves.
"But since you said it... the Blight is spreading. And it's eating and killing organic life. Not unlike the Voice." Now it is an overt accusation, a question beneath her steely tone. Isn't that strange, don't you care? "You said you didn't help the Voice. Not that she didn't spread it herself."
