A M A L I A
No! Amalia wants to shout in response to Desmond, but all that comes out is "Naaargh!" as stone talons tear into her tender shoulder. The pain is blinding, sharp and jagged and crushing and awful. She tries to reach back for her assailant, stumbling and falling into the water, her cries drowned and muffled as the gargoyles drag her down. Water fills her lungs; she coughs, but this only makes the situation worse, and before she knows it the pain in her left shoulder is paired nicely with a pain in her lungs. Is this drowning? the girl wonders, and the thought seems to echo through her head, persistent and prolonged. Mort, mother, have you come for me?
Just as suddenly the pressure is gone, and Amalia breaks the surface, life returning as easily as it left. She gasps, inhaling deeply and greedily, air never having tasted so sweet. Above her towers the Ascended, and though his generosity is unexpected, it is not unwelcome. "Thank Vi," she murmurs through a burning throat. "And thank you, Ascended."
Perhaps the greatest relief, there is still light; the girl blinks through pain and tears, her wet hair plastered to her face and neck, bloodstains dying her grey coat red, and smiles up at
It is not long before they are met with noise, and relief swells in the girl's breast at the sign of
"Echo," the girl speaks into the darkness, her own voice reverberating softly through the Underground. "It's an echo." She exhales sharply, pain stabbing once more at her back, and takes a step forward toward the wall. If she has doomed them, well... at least she will be first in the line of fire.
