Amalia
Run or fly. There is a tightness in Amalia's chest as Ianto says those words, a yearning and understanding that knits into her soul. Run or fly, until the ends of the earth, until freedom - true freedom - were in their grasp. "Me too." She does not look at Ianto, but up at the broken Spire: so long a symbol of their confinement, now just a relic, a mockery of days when she thought its downfall would set her free.
Something else she says makes her pause, though, a small frown growing between her brows. "Is it really inescapable?" Amalia wonders aloud, tilting her head to look back at Ianto. "There's so much more outside of it... the Fae have to know a way?"
Something else she says makes her pause, though, a small frown growing between her brows. "Is it really inescapable?" Amalia wonders aloud, tilting her head to look back at Ianto. "There's so much more outside of it... the Fae have to know a way?"
don't make a shadow of yourself, always shutting out the light
