until i'm ready, let me be
Sam's unimpressed expression sharpens Amalia's lingering ire, her brows furrowing at how blasely he treats her foray into a god's personal world. Of course he doesn't care, or perhaps he doesn't believe her. "Yes," she says simply in response to his question, obviously written clearly in her expressive face.
Still irate, the Shield does not just let his segue into the Core go. "Connected to what?" she presses, leaning forward. "The souls of the Ascendeds? Is the Core still there? What is it?" Here is a point she knows very little on, just like so many of the Voice's well-kept secrets.
Unlike Sam, Amalia very strongly suspects that the Voice would lie about a good many things, just as she lied about the Blight. "Mort doesn't judge our choices," the Shield points out, crossing her arms over her chest. "I doubt he would treat your soul differently from any other, Ascended or not."
Still irate, the Shield does not just let his segue into the Core go. "Connected to what?" she presses, leaning forward. "The souls of the Ascendeds? Is the Core still there? What is it?" Here is a point she knows very little on, just like so many of the Voice's well-kept secrets.
Unlike Sam, Amalia very strongly suspects that the Voice would lie about a good many things, just as she lied about the Blight. "Mort doesn't judge our choices," the Shield points out, crossing her arms over her chest. "I doubt he would treat your soul differently from any other, Ascended or not."
i have to heal myself
AmaLiA
