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 His flinch does not escape her, but she lets it rest for now, another piece of darkness left to fester in her troubled mind. "Okay," she replies softly, her smile clouded once again, a tired resignation in her tone. She has to choose one mountain at a time. She is grateful that his back is to her as he comments on her devotion, that he cannot see the wince of pain that flashes across her face. Hopefully it is a devotion that need never be tested; Amalia cannot say for sure that she will measure up, should that time arise. Troubled and quiet the baker follows Jigano into the small office, inhaling deeply the familiar scent of books, a warm nostalgia in her breast. She misses this, sometimes: being a librarian, living amongst the tomes. Slender fingers trail gently over the spines of volumes from the underground library as Amalia walks the perimeter of the room, listening to Jigano work behind her. She knows the book well: it had been the central point of the library, and it stands to reason it would have more information. That Jigano had moved it in here, locked away from even her, out of sight and out of reach from the one who had first been asked to find it... Sighing heavily, the Shield tries to steady herself, surprised and afraid at the sudden surge of anger. "What does it say about her?" She is fairly certain she already knows: she spent no little amount of time pouring over the pages, before the world went to shit. Born of stars... Beautiful chosen of Vi... it isn't enough to help the girl, but maybe he knows more than she does. 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