AmaLIa
shield of safrin
She lets him hold onto her hands for as long as he wants, clings to him like an anchor in the storm. Grief still lingers near the surface of her breast, the fragmented pieces of her heart bleeding ichor and tar, but the scars have begun to form; the healing, once more, begins. When he takes his bag she still clings to him, keeping one great hand captive in hers, her fingers laced among his. The roughness of his calloused palms matches that of her own; their lifelines press against each other, mirrored and intertwined.
It feels almost wrong to leave. A final glance is cast around Adam's home, the colorful chaos such clear reminder of her friend. Each detail burns her retinas, tightens the pressure in her chest. She has to swallow as another wave of pain wracks through her, threatening to tear her apart once again. Part of her doesn't want to leave, would rather stay here forever than risk giving him up, because that's what it feels like: leaving him behind all over again, a ghost left to languish in the empty space.
But Amalia cannot live with ghosts. She is flesh and blood and she has made bonds and ties, has tangled the web of her soul among others- among his, most of all. "Home," she agrees, soft and heavy as a shroud. Home, and life, and moving forward, the things that Adam will never do.
The sunlight slants against her face, lower and later than when they walked within. She blinks against it as they step out, as though surprised to see it still there. Falling into stride with Deimos, her hand still fiercely claiming his, she exhales a long and shuddering sigh. "I went to see Ludo." Eyes on the ground, bare, feline-padded feet picking their way over dirt and brush and kicking a stick away. "To ask about... about them. It says their souls are safe in Mort's realm." A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
It feels almost wrong to leave. A final glance is cast around Adam's home, the colorful chaos such clear reminder of her friend. Each detail burns her retinas, tightens the pressure in her chest. She has to swallow as another wave of pain wracks through her, threatening to tear her apart once again. Part of her doesn't want to leave, would rather stay here forever than risk giving him up, because that's what it feels like: leaving him behind all over again, a ghost left to languish in the empty space.
But Amalia cannot live with ghosts. She is flesh and blood and she has made bonds and ties, has tangled the web of her soul among others- among his, most of all. "Home," she agrees, soft and heavy as a shroud. Home, and life, and moving forward, the things that Adam will never do.
The sunlight slants against her face, lower and later than when they walked within. She blinks against it as they step out, as though surprised to see it still there. Falling into stride with Deimos, her hand still fiercely claiming his, she exhales a long and shuddering sigh. "I went to see Ludo." Eyes on the ground, bare, feline-padded feet picking their way over dirt and brush and kicking a stick away. "To ask about... about them. It says their souls are safe in Mort's realm." A small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
