A spoonful of sugar

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 He takes her hand and she allows it, though there is little left for him to do. The truth is, Amalia's body is nearly healed: only the nerves in her spine remain shattered, and repairing them will take more than magic. Nerves, her mother used to tell her, were not made to be regrown. The body is a resilient thing, regenerating, thriving, but nerves? Nerves, like hearts, are not so easy. Once they've broken, they tend to stay that way. His comment about Rory earns a flicker of a smile, something sad and unreadable flashing behind her dark eyes. "I remember." I was there. She doesn't feel a need to remind him of this - he had been there, too, after all, as she lay in the infirmary a year before, her body recovering from minutes of death. Somehow it had been easier that time, despite the damage being more severe. Amalia had been wounded, but she'd found strength in the days that followed. The Spark Bird appearing, Ludo's task... it felt like reassurance, gave her resilience and purpose to go on. But now? Now as she lies on her infirmary bed Amalia only feels hollow, rudderless, without a thought as to what happens next. Certainly she could leave this bed, but what would she do outside of it? She has failed- her gods, her ancestors, her friends, her home. There is no quest, no mythical creature to light the darkness. Ronin is gone, and Remi too, and Aoife... ...Aoife... She closes her eyes and bites her lip, still not looking at the bard. "I'll go outside when I can go on my own," the girl says simply, a tired smile on her face. It's the excuse she's given everybody, things left unsaid beneath the bland statement. "I... I don't think I'm ready to face it all yet." 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