AmaLIa
shield of safrin
A moment of silence for the fight they have given up on: there is a glimmer of peace in the storm of their collective frustrations, though whether from true understanding or simple exhausted remains unclear. Numbness to violence feels surreal, a terrible thing to aspire to yet something she's coming to understand. "And now?" she wonders, not looking up. "Are you still numb?"
There is fur on her neck, a curve to her ears, lilac trails in her hair- signs of the animals rising and cloying, pulling their way to the surface of her soul. "You're still fighting," Amalia points out, face tilted toward him just enough to show a sliver of dark eyes beneath a curtain of gold. "You fight all the time against who you are. Bad... And good. You're always so hidden, even to me." The angry accusation is gone from her voice: this is simple acknowledgement, statement of fact.
Is that joke, a smile, a snort? A ray of light in the darkness of their differences? Amalia can't help it: she smirks her own reply, a brief and fleeting expression of brightness that softens her features significantly. "I would." Stop him, save him, whatever it took. She would if he would let her, and maybe if he wouldn't, too.
Though her expression sharpens again at the follow-up declaration, frustration causing her to once more look away, her hands clenched tight. Amalia snaps, "That's not what I said," making no effort to hide her aggravation. "I said I want to know you- all of you. Not just what you think I can handle. That isn't fair, Deimos." Jaw clenched, she straightens back up, staring resolutely at the window, the haze of the world beyond obscured by unshed tears. "Or do you have so little faith in me?"
There is fur on her neck, a curve to her ears, lilac trails in her hair- signs of the animals rising and cloying, pulling their way to the surface of her soul. "You're still fighting," Amalia points out, face tilted toward him just enough to show a sliver of dark eyes beneath a curtain of gold. "You fight all the time against who you are. Bad... And good. You're always so hidden, even to me." The angry accusation is gone from her voice: this is simple acknowledgement, statement of fact.
Is that joke, a smile, a snort? A ray of light in the darkness of their differences? Amalia can't help it: she smirks her own reply, a brief and fleeting expression of brightness that softens her features significantly. "I would." Stop him, save him, whatever it took. She would if he would let her, and maybe if he wouldn't, too.
Though her expression sharpens again at the follow-up declaration, frustration causing her to once more look away, her hands clenched tight. Amalia snaps, "That's not what I said," making no effort to hide her aggravation. "I said I want to know you- all of you. Not just what you think I can handle. That isn't fair, Deimos." Jaw clenched, she straightens back up, staring resolutely at the window, the haze of the world beyond obscured by unshed tears. "Or do you have so little faith in me?"
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
