Amalia
the shield of safrin
She sighs softly, resisting the urge to lean forward and place her forehead against the mask- a deeply irreverent movement in its presumed familiarity. Instead she lowers her face to her hands, pulling out the silver ring and rolling it between her fingers. "What about the memories kept alive in objects? Or images? Or are those only there as long as someone... someone still exists to remember it?"
Death feels final and so far away; Amalia misses the people she's lost with a quiet desperation, despite her attempts to keep the memories of them warm and alive. "I know that it's selfish... but I miss them so much. And I worry... what if I don't remember the right things? What if I forget their faces?" She swallows back frustration, with herself rather than any other, before a thought strikes her. Raising her eyes back to the god, the baker bites her lip. "Have you ever lost someone, Ludo?" Amalia asks, her voice soft.
Death feels final and so far away; Amalia misses the people she's lost with a quiet desperation, despite her attempts to keep the memories of them warm and alive. "I know that it's selfish... but I miss them so much. And I worry... what if I don't remember the right things? What if I forget their faces?" She swallows back frustration, with herself rather than any other, before a thought strikes her. Raising her eyes back to the god, the baker bites her lip. "Have you ever lost someone, Ludo?" Amalia asks, her voice soft.
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
