Amalia
the shield of safrin
"Ashetta gave it. And Safrin nearly killed herself - she still might-" Amalia stops, the anger that flares within her fading as she remembers, again, that horrible night. Clenching and unclenching her fists the girl sighs, telltale white fur rising on her shoulders and neck as she fights with her frustrations. She cannot force Remi to see things her way, but she does not understand the way he looks at it, either. Of course there are prices, of course there are exchanges - everything must have a balance. It is not for the Gods to fix all their woes for them. They made the world: humans now must do their best to live up to that gift.
Ronin is another frustration, though Amalia is not angry with the king. Scrunching her nose as she takes another sip of her drink, the baker frowns as more long fur rises on her neck. "Not much," she says reluctantly, looking down at her plate. "That I'm stuck up. And worthless. That I don't... don't even deserve his hate. Y'know. Things I already knew." Her crooked smile is mirthless and defeated, alcohol bringing her insecurities bubbling to the surface. It is why the Shield rarely drinks - because it dulls the pain, yes, but it dulls her defenses too, leaves her raw and open to hurt, a hurt she usually inflicts herself.
Ronin is another frustration, though Amalia is not angry with the king. Scrunching her nose as she takes another sip of her drink, the baker frowns as more long fur rises on her neck. "Not much," she says reluctantly, looking down at her plate. "That I'm stuck up. And worthless. That I don't... don't even deserve his hate. Y'know. Things I already knew." Her crooked smile is mirthless and defeated, alcohol bringing her insecurities bubbling to the surface. It is why the Shield rarely drinks - because it dulls the pain, yes, but it dulls her defenses too, leaves her raw and open to hurt, a hurt she usually inflicts herself.
you are slowly growing
but you are still growing
and that is enough
