AmaLIa
shield of safrin
A place where ruin will come if people dared to aspire to peace, where the only option is to fight and kill and brutalize without remorse: she cannot picture it. War is foreign, threats and invasion and such levels of abject hate. Perhaps she is ignorant, naive and foolish. Or perhaps, she thinks, the Hollowed Grounds - and all of Caido - are simply better at prioritizing, somewhat more evolved. They need to survive against hostilities of the world rather than against each other; they do not go to war among themselves, had not sought to be ruled until the outlanders came.
She thinks about this in the face of his sarcasm, the anger that radiates off of him in waves. A quiet rage next to her incendiary force, but palpably there nonetheless. Amalia knows him well enough to know when he is angry, to see the emotion beneath the veneer, the coiling smoke of fury and hurt. Of course she hasn't seen his violence here; of course she knows the world is complicated- she is not a child, blind to reality, but her reality has been different than his. He knew that going into this, knew that when he chose her, yet now he acts as though she has affronted him personally by virtue of daring to be surprised. The blade of his words could easily ignite embers on the steel of her stubborn, obstinate resolve, set them both off and burn this all down into so much irreparable ash.
She swallows down the fire and it burns within her throat.
"I haven't forgotten." It is a quiet admission, still hard as flint, but non-hostile at least. "I know how much you've done - for Caido. For the people here. For me. It's why I love you, even though I knew..." She trails off, dropping her eyes again, a hard line in her jaw. She knew, but not really, because she lacked the frame of reference to comprehend it all. Even now it overwhelms her, appalls her, makes her ill.
Swallowing again, Amalia lets her gaze drift into the nonspecific distance, wondering a moment what Adam would think to see them having this fight here. "You knew this would... that I wouldn't like hearing this. I don't... I don't understand it all. How you could do all that, be all that, and still..." be you.
Her throat feels terribly, painfully dry, the fire burning down into embers and ash. She drops her head against her hands, elbows on the table, staring at the wood. "I shouldn't have... have said that. I'm sorry. I do have faith in you, and I want you to tell me everything, it's just... a lot."
She thinks about this in the face of his sarcasm, the anger that radiates off of him in waves. A quiet rage next to her incendiary force, but palpably there nonetheless. Amalia knows him well enough to know when he is angry, to see the emotion beneath the veneer, the coiling smoke of fury and hurt. Of course she hasn't seen his violence here; of course she knows the world is complicated- she is not a child, blind to reality, but her reality has been different than his. He knew that going into this, knew that when he chose her, yet now he acts as though she has affronted him personally by virtue of daring to be surprised. The blade of his words could easily ignite embers on the steel of her stubborn, obstinate resolve, set them both off and burn this all down into so much irreparable ash.
She swallows down the fire and it burns within her throat.
"I haven't forgotten." It is a quiet admission, still hard as flint, but non-hostile at least. "I know how much you've done - for Caido. For the people here. For me. It's why I love you, even though I knew..." She trails off, dropping her eyes again, a hard line in her jaw. She knew, but not really, because she lacked the frame of reference to comprehend it all. Even now it overwhelms her, appalls her, makes her ill.
Swallowing again, Amalia lets her gaze drift into the nonspecific distance, wondering a moment what Adam would think to see them having this fight here. "You knew this would... that I wouldn't like hearing this. I don't... I don't understand it all. How you could do all that, be all that, and still..." be you.
Her throat feels terribly, painfully dry, the fire burning down into embers and ash. She drops her head against her hands, elbows on the table, staring at the wood. "I shouldn't have... have said that. I'm sorry. I do have faith in you, and I want you to tell me everything, it's just... a lot."
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
