Amalia
she was afraid of heights
For once the appearance of Safrin before her does nothing to lift Amalia's spirits. The awe, the wonder, the adoration and delight- it is all dulled beneath this newest, greatest pain, flooding out of the cracks that she finally has not been able to repair. Blank eyes regard the deity as she manifests, a flash of something wounded beneath them, but Amalia remains silent in the face of her greetings, unwilling or unable to muster a reply.
Instead she shifts, her body elongating, gold hair falling down her back, feathers retreating into skin. Her legs dangle uselessly over the white marble, pale and taunting in the light of the moon. You left me there, her lips don't say. You left me, and you rescued him.
It doesn't matter, she doesn't say, aloud glassy eyes dropping to the ground. Deimos' efforts, their attempts, her legs. It's not going to bring them back.
but she was much more afraid
of never flying
