Amalia
the shield of safrin
We are never satisfied. It would make sense, even if it hadn't come from a god, and Amalia nods slowly, an appropriately discontent expression on her face. "I used to think that was a good thing," she admits, staring back down at her plate. "That not being satisfied made us push to be better. But now... I'm not sure. Sometimes it just hurts."
It isn't worth the argument, worth trying to explain the broken pieces of her that refuse to fit together again. Sighing, she lets a half smile curl at her lips, swallowing down the crushing sadness and trying to find some speck of light. He has enough on his shoulders; he does not need her troubles, too. "Yeah, he did." Whether Amalia agrees with that decision is left unsaid, lingering between them. So far, she seems to have done a rather shit job.
It isn't worth the argument, worth trying to explain the broken pieces of her that refuse to fit together again. Sighing, she lets a half smile curl at her lips, swallowing down the crushing sadness and trying to find some speck of light. He has enough on his shoulders; he does not need her troubles, too. "Yeah, he did." Whether Amalia agrees with that decision is left unsaid, lingering between them. So far, she seems to have done a rather shit job.
you are slowly growing
but you are still growing
and that is enough
