Prodigal

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help She listens as he explains his journey, the things he remembers and the things he does not. The spire, when he struck them as they attempted to plant roses, leaving him with brief respite. Ianto's blood, and Amalia wonders if this is the other the fox mentioned meeting and striking with a thorn. Bastien, another of the surprising number of Ascendeds who seems to have found themselves aiding in the curing of the blight they caused. But these are small snippets of a long stretch of time, and the girl shivers as she wonders what else he has forgotten, remembering Ronin's monstrous form. But then he had remembered things. Rory. Sam. And her. And he had found himself, found his home, found humanity beneath the darkness. How-? But there can only be one way, and Amalia knows it as sure as she knows her name. She has prayed for it, hoped for it, dreamed of it and, yes, doubted it. Her breath catching, Amalia blinks back tears, wonder and gratitude welling up as she realizes what must have occurred. "Vi's roses," the girl whispers, a smile erupting from the clouds of her face. The tears spill now, rivulets upon her cheeks, but they are happy, happy, a thousand weights dropping from her shoulders. "They worked, Jigano. Vi - and Rae - they saved us. They saved you." Which means they must have saved the others, too. Phoebe. Ronin. Kiada. Safrin. a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine