Running out of air

They sway, they bend, they nearly break- closer, closer every time. When will it become too much, she wonders, the burdens they carry, the worries they wear? Amalia does not look at Jigano as she speaks, not directly, though there are glances that punctuate her words, stolen and thrown between them. Her hands are busy worrying the apron, pulling pointlessly at loose strings, her expression tired and flat. Not until she finishes does the girl raise her eyes, watching as Bastien defends Sam, not surprised but not impressed, either. "The last time I spoke to him he seemed very firmly under the Voice's sway. Maybe he did not do it knowingly, but now that he does know?" Amalia sighs and drops her eyes again, shrugging. She does not know which side Sam will take. She does not know anything, anymore. It is Jigano's turn to share information, and Amalia listens intently, her expression growing thoughtful and serious as she tries to make sense of the revelations. She nods slowly as he mentions experiments, already knowing as much about the Demon, having seen it abandoned and fallen into disrepair. "It exploded when it died," the baker contributes. "A failsafe. I don't... think Ascended do, because the ones in the Spire did not. But blighted things... might. And Ascended blood is flammable." The idea that the Long Night monsters might be related is similarly unsettling but unsurprising, and Amalia sighs heavily, shaking her head, her dark gaze tired as she meets his blues. "Ludo seemed to think they were souls," the baker agrees slowly. "And they hate the light, just like Ascended. Though that begs the question- where do they go for the rest of the year?" Two more questions for every answer, three more locks for every opened door. Dropping her head onto her hands and wincing at the weight on her wounded arm, Amalia bites her lip. "We've already let the blight into the Greatwood. Trees are dying. Fae are sick. If there's anything we can do to protect them against the monsters..." They have to try. She has to try. These are the sins of her people, her fore-bearers, the Naturals of years and years before. It is not right for others to pay them. Delah was right: the barrier should have remained raised, and the Grounders trapped within it. All they have done with their newfound freedom is hasten the death of the world. a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there