Amalia
she wants the silence but fears the solitude
she wants to be alone and together with you
Once again Amalia feels like a child in his eyes, wincing as he kneels down the same way she might to speak to Aoife, or any of the children who frequent her shop. Part of her knows it isn't what he means, but in her state of hurt and her rising resentments the baker is struggling to hold onto that part, to keep from being swallowed whole by her aching insecurities.
She knows that he is fragile, that he has hurt and been hurt in the past. That he is older, and wiser, and more experienced; that she is, in fact, a child. It's the reason why she bit back her feelings, held her tongue a million times and simply apologized again and again, told him that she wasn't angry, wasn't struggling, wasn't hurt. It would be so easy to do it again, to keep their dynamic as it is. It would be simpler, and safer, perhaps, and Amalia does not want to lose anyone else.
Curling her toes unhappily, the baker sighs and turns away, a flash of ire and guilt and pain slicing across her angular face. Every kind word is another slap, another reminder that she is the one treating his affection as though it is cruel. What is wrong with her, that she cannot be happy, content with the things he says and free of her anxious, nagging doubts?
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Amalia shakes her head. "It feels like... like you don't listen to me. Or don't talk to me. Or..." How to explain it? Perhaps if she used the Attuned bond it would make some sense, but the Shield has closed herself off entirely. "Every time I try to really talk, you just... apologize, or, or tell me how great I am, and how everything is your fault, and I just... it makes me feel like if I disagree with you, or get upset, or anything, I'm just being a terrible person for making you feel bad, and I don't want you to just apologize, you can talk to me, I can-"
Abruptly she stops, tears in her eyes, her dark gaze flinty with anger and hurt as they finally meet his blue.
She knows that he is fragile, that he has hurt and been hurt in the past. That he is older, and wiser, and more experienced; that she is, in fact, a child. It's the reason why she bit back her feelings, held her tongue a million times and simply apologized again and again, told him that she wasn't angry, wasn't struggling, wasn't hurt. It would be so easy to do it again, to keep their dynamic as it is. It would be simpler, and safer, perhaps, and Amalia does not want to lose anyone else.
Curling her toes unhappily, the baker sighs and turns away, a flash of ire and guilt and pain slicing across her angular face. Every kind word is another slap, another reminder that she is the one treating his affection as though it is cruel. What is wrong with her, that she cannot be happy, content with the things he says and free of her anxious, nagging doubts?
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Amalia shakes her head. "It feels like... like you don't listen to me. Or don't talk to me. Or..." How to explain it? Perhaps if she used the Attuned bond it would make some sense, but the Shield has closed herself off entirely. "Every time I try to really talk, you just... apologize, or, or tell me how great I am, and how everything is your fault, and I just... it makes me feel like if I disagree with you, or get upset, or anything, I'm just being a terrible person for making you feel bad, and I don't want you to just apologize, you can talk to me, I can-"
Abruptly she stops, tears in her eyes, her dark gaze flinty with anger and hurt as they finally meet his blue.
she ran to the lighthouse, hoped that it would help her see
she saw that the lighthouse had been washed out to sea
