meet me where the falling stars live
i will wait for you
"It would have mattered to me." Her voice is soft and her dark eyes searching as Amalia says the words, but there is earnest honesty behind them. Does Wessex believe her? Does it matter if she does? Yes- because no matter the differences in their beliefs or creed Amalia loves the taciturn woman. The have both lost too much to death already, to lose each other to life. Or she the baker fervently believes.
And then there is Roana. Amalia's feelings on the woman are conflicted, at best. She had asked her to do something; only, she'd never expected that thing to be blind murder in the name of a god she barely knows. She had promised not to tell the other woman's secret, and perhaps if she were a better liar she might have kept that promise when confronted by Wessex.
It is a relief, though, handing over this particular responsibility, letting the wraith - the queen - handle it. It is what Wessex had wanted, Amalia figures: to lead, to judge, to rule. Better a wiser woman than she. Better someone who wants it, at least
She glances back up as the Wraith shifts beside her, bloodshot eyes rising back to Wessex as she asks why Amalia has been crying. Does she want to talk about it? Yes and no- for if she begins she knows she will not stop, that she will fall to pieces here, in the snow, a thousand anxieties flooding out from her lips. "I guess I've been stressed," she replies instead, not quite meeting Wessex's eyes, the understatement written in the quirk of her lips. "With everything going on. The blight and... And everything."
Tilting her head back up to the woman, Amalia's expression speaks of a deep affection and genuine pride. "Nothing compared to you, though. Queen Wessex... What's it like?"
And then there is Roana. Amalia's feelings on the woman are conflicted, at best. She had asked her to do something; only, she'd never expected that thing to be blind murder in the name of a god she barely knows. She had promised not to tell the other woman's secret, and perhaps if she were a better liar she might have kept that promise when confronted by Wessex.
It is a relief, though, handing over this particular responsibility, letting the wraith - the queen - handle it. It is what Wessex had wanted, Amalia figures: to lead, to judge, to rule. Better a wiser woman than she. Better someone who wants it, at least
She glances back up as the Wraith shifts beside her, bloodshot eyes rising back to Wessex as she asks why Amalia has been crying. Does she want to talk about it? Yes and no- for if she begins she knows she will not stop, that she will fall to pieces here, in the snow, a thousand anxieties flooding out from her lips. "I guess I've been stressed," she replies instead, not quite meeting Wessex's eyes, the understatement written in the quirk of her lips. "With everything going on. The blight and... And everything."
Tilting her head back up to the woman, Amalia's expression speaks of a deep affection and genuine pride. "Nothing compared to you, though. Queen Wessex... What's it like?"
day and night
AMALIA
