AmaLIa
shield of safrin
She maneuvers too, chess pieces moving across the board, ships afraid of careening into each other and crashing upon the rocks. Taking up a position at the table he just abandoned, she scoots herself up onto the wood, her bare feet running nervously over each other while she traces circles with her thumbs. Jyoti leaves Deimos with a final pulse of comfort, swimming further from the fire and settling in the Shield's lap.
The story begins in a baritone, smoke curling in the room between them, history released into the light. Wrapping her arms around the whale Amalia listens, silent and enraptured. Father, a thing she has never known personally: strong and ridiculous, the imagery telling more than his voice ever could. Mother, stern and serious and not unlike the figure the Shield was raised beneath, women with the strength of stone and sea.
In response she offers imagery of her own: her grandmother, the older woman holding Amalia and underneath the stars, a wealth of stories past between the oldest and youngest Chandrakant. Her mother, forcing her to sit and learn and review the different herbs and plants of Caido. Both of them gone too soon, a wealth of could-have-beens and regrets weighing on her soul.
"My Nani died on LongNight. I was at the infirmary with my mother, and when we came home, she was just... gone." She looks at the whale in her lap, the unsaid implications there. If only they had stayed together, if only Amalia had been at home. If only, if only, if only again. A thousand if onlys, and it's never enough.
The story begins in a baritone, smoke curling in the room between them, history released into the light. Wrapping her arms around the whale Amalia listens, silent and enraptured. Father, a thing she has never known personally: strong and ridiculous, the imagery telling more than his voice ever could. Mother, stern and serious and not unlike the figure the Shield was raised beneath, women with the strength of stone and sea.
In response she offers imagery of her own: her grandmother, the older woman holding Amalia and underneath the stars, a wealth of stories past between the oldest and youngest Chandrakant. Her mother, forcing her to sit and learn and review the different herbs and plants of Caido. Both of them gone too soon, a wealth of could-have-beens and regrets weighing on her soul.
"My Nani died on LongNight. I was at the infirmary with my mother, and when we came home, she was just... gone." She looks at the whale in her lap, the unsaid implications there. If only they had stayed together, if only Amalia had been at home. If only, if only, if only again. A thousand if onlys, and it's never enough.
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
