AmaLIa
shield of safrin
He follows her like a shadow, an echo, another hollow creature walking through this mausoleum, this cenotaph, this shrine. Tomb- except there isn't even a body to bury, no flesh or blood to leave within the skeleton of stick and stone. Just taunting, howling memories that flood her mind and senses; just smells and sounds and hallucinations; just laughing, mocking ghosts.
She does not look up when Deimos draws near; her eyes are full of tears. She does not open up to his embrace, doesn't unfold into his touch. Instead Amalia draws in tighter, her knees pressing up against her chest, the shirt clung to with all the ferocity of the teddy beloved by a child. I'm sorry feels like a taunt against her skin, a key to unlock the floodgates of remorse. It's the words she's repeated in her mind for hours and days and years. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry-
She wants to be left with her grief and her pain and her guilt and her ghosts and she wants to never be alone again. She wants to turn time back and change every choice, fix every countless, agonizing mistakes. The sobs come faster now, louder, unstoppable, tears on her knees, her hands, the shirt. She wishes she could give him anything, could take his grief and carry it, but Amalia has nothing left. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...
"I didn't get to say goodbye."
She does not look up when Deimos draws near; her eyes are full of tears. She does not open up to his embrace, doesn't unfold into his touch. Instead Amalia draws in tighter, her knees pressing up against her chest, the shirt clung to with all the ferocity of the teddy beloved by a child. I'm sorry feels like a taunt against her skin, a key to unlock the floodgates of remorse. It's the words she's repeated in her mind for hours and days and years. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry-
She wants to be left with her grief and her pain and her guilt and her ghosts and she wants to never be alone again. She wants to turn time back and change every choice, fix every countless, agonizing mistakes. The sobs come faster now, louder, unstoppable, tears on her knees, her hands, the shirt. She wishes she could give him anything, could take his grief and carry it, but Amalia has nothing left. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...
"I didn't get to say goodbye."
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
