you drew memories in my mind I could never erase
painted colors in my heart I could never replace
He doesn't pull away from her, and Amalia rests her head on his shoulder, sighing softly, still silent and supportive and not really knowing what else to do. For a moment her heart clenches again as he mentions the guards coming to catch him; and then I died wouldn't be the strangest thing she'd heard from an Outlander's lips.
But no, the truth of the matter is worse. She follows his fingers to his neck, watches as they trace the silver scars, as he remembers his trauma and recounts it to her. He was not captured, was not killed, but he was maimed, left with scars both physical and emotional to remind him forever of that day. "Fuck," she exhales softly, emphatically, all of her empathy carried over in that simple yet complex word.
Amalia knows what it is to have moments that hurt too much to look at, and she knows that sometimes you have to see them, to stare into the wound. Or so it is for her, at least, and her own experiences are all she can go off. "How did you... I mean, what happened next?"
But no, the truth of the matter is worse. She follows his fingers to his neck, watches as they trace the silver scars, as he remembers his trauma and recounts it to her. He was not captured, was not killed, but he was maimed, left with scars both physical and emotional to remind him forever of that day. "Fuck," she exhales softly, emphatically, all of her empathy carried over in that simple yet complex word.
Amalia knows what it is to have moments that hurt too much to look at, and she knows that sometimes you have to see them, to stare into the wound. Or so it is for her, at least, and her own experiences are all she can go off. "How did you... I mean, what happened next?"
meet me where the falling stars live
Amalia
