Amalia
For my part, I know nothing with any certainty
It would be nice for the world to remain peaceful, for tranquil love to permeate her bakery, their lives, if only for a day. Deimos takes his time to sit, silent, stoic, a stalwart shield; she can feel the uncertainty rolling from his figure, that there is something deeper at work, and she tries her best to ignore that knowledge, to push the fear away. Perhaps if she is vibrant enough whatever ills him shall simply fade; perhaps she can swallow despair and doubt, replace and repair it with passion and ardor. A day without turmoil is all she asks. A day where they can simply be.Alas, such halcyon moments are fleeting now, wrapped in the darkness that threatens them all, issues and dangers bigger than them, purpose and plots and trying, always trying. Her back is to Deimos when he finally speaks, having just pulled the first batch of cakes from the oven, the second one ready in her hands, the scorching heat threatening to curl her hair, leave her as scorched without as she feels within. We are going back in the Spire. We are going back down. Fearful, furious, and a little bit resigned: they all play across the face turned away from him, her displeasure evident in the way she stiffens, frozen for a moment before the oven door. "Oh."
It feels pointless sometimes, to continue pretending normalcy is something they will ever have.
She says nothing more as she slides in the pan of cakes. She says nothing more as she turns around. And she says nothing more as she begins to remove the cooked goods from their ramekins, depositing them onto a cooling rack with surgical precision, her eyes never leaving her work. There is something dangerous in her silence, unusual, hard: it is a mask she does not wear very often, but one that slips on with no little ease. Behind it her mind is a frenzy of activity, emotions waging a deadly war, intention ripping through her heart, her bones.
"When?" Her voice is calm, if a little shaky, alto clipping slightly as she voices the syllable. Not why - she knows why, though why him rings and echoes through her skull, howls along with the rest of the storm.
but the sight of the stars makes me dream
