[SE] Silver Bells and Cockleshells

She listens to him through their bond, feeling the warmth of his cheek on her hand, the breath that leaves him in small, soft sighs. No hero, no protector, arrogant, limited- Amalia cannot help but see the truth in all these things, and yet she knows there is more beside. But she does not say the praise that comes so easily to her mind, does not comfort him with soothing words and reassurances of grandeur, because what is the use of that? She will not negate his experiences by taping over the cracks in his facade, the places where he is splintering. Growth doesn't come from blocking out the dark places. Growth comes from letting yourself look in the darkness, and seeing that it's actually a space to fill with light. Amalia's presence is her promise, her hand on his face the reassurance she gives. I am here the gesture says, less in words than simple feelings. I know you are broken, and I don't care. I am broken, too. At last she drops her hand away, fingers falling to rest upon the bracer on her other arm. Glancing back upon the memorial garden, the girl cannot help a smile that drifts across her face, a warm expression beneath the turbulent darkness of her tired eyes. "It might seem like Safrin cursed you, but... you made something beautiful today." Shrugging slightly, she looks back up at the man, searching in his face. "The things we are, the good and bad... they're not who we are. We're what we do with those parts of ourselves. So what are you going to do?" a m a l i a You were young and you'd stare With a reverence unimpaired Searching in your dark eyes to find the stars already there