Amalia
she wants the silence but fears the solitude
she wants to be alone and together with you
She lets him hold her, if only because she does not have the will to fight. Arms still clenched around himself Amalia stands in his embrace, stiff, stoic, uncharacteristically so, biting her lip to hold back the tide of anger and pain so suddenly on the surface. Does he rely on her? Does she give him hope? And if so, why does it always feel as though he is left without anything beneath her? That she is not - has never been - enough?
Jigano steps away at last, and while the baker remains withdrawn a part of her aches for the affection. Beneath her coat a leopard's tail emerges, coiled tightly around her leg. "You're always terrified," Amalia whispers, her eyes still downcast, her expression bleak. "You're always scared- of me, for me. That I hate you. That I'm mad at you. That I'm going to get hurt." Swallowing hard, she shakes her head, a lock of gold hair falling loose to hang over her face. "And if I... if I try to say something, you just..."
Trailing off, Amalia takes a deep breath, trying to steady her rising unhappiness. How can she say what is on her mind, the way she sometimes feels small when he speaks to her, as though she has never been anything other than a child in his eyes? And what right does she have to her discontent, when he is being nothing but kind: she deserves the scoldings, deserves to be told. She has failed and failed and failed, and every time she thinks she has a foothold on success it slips back out from beneath her feet.
"I'm sorry, Jigano," the Shield of Safrin says softly, flatly, still refusing to meet his eyes. "I will try to be better."
Jigano steps away at last, and while the baker remains withdrawn a part of her aches for the affection. Beneath her coat a leopard's tail emerges, coiled tightly around her leg. "You're always terrified," Amalia whispers, her eyes still downcast, her expression bleak. "You're always scared- of me, for me. That I hate you. That I'm mad at you. That I'm going to get hurt." Swallowing hard, she shakes her head, a lock of gold hair falling loose to hang over her face. "And if I... if I try to say something, you just..."
Trailing off, Amalia takes a deep breath, trying to steady her rising unhappiness. How can she say what is on her mind, the way she sometimes feels small when he speaks to her, as though she has never been anything other than a child in his eyes? And what right does she have to her discontent, when he is being nothing but kind: she deserves the scoldings, deserves to be told. She has failed and failed and failed, and every time she thinks she has a foothold on success it slips back out from beneath her feet.
"I'm sorry, Jigano," the Shield of Safrin says softly, flatly, still refusing to meet his eyes. "I will try to be better."
she ran to the lighthouse, hoped that it would help her see
she saw that the lighthouse had been washed out to sea
