AmaLIa
shield of safrin
The quiet acquiescement eases her somewhat, but still he does not move away from the stove, does not relinquish the quiet control she knows and expects so keenly now. In fact, Amalia is beginning to suspect that she'd been terribly misguided in her concerns: that rather than fleeing he may simply vanish into the floor, slip between her fingers like sand and be lost to her forever.
"Okay," she echoes against his back. Then: "Come."
Gentle but insistent she takes his hand, unwrapping herself from around him only enough to guide him away, toward the stairs and the bath above. Never fully breaking cotnact Amalia tugs him to the second floor, past their shared bedroom and into the bathroom. She makes no move to fill the tub - he's far more adept at that than she - but instead turns back to him as the threshold is breached, raising her hands back to his chest.
Slow and steady her slender fingers begin to work the buttons of his shirt, to peel off the layers and reveal the scars she now knows far too much about, each one newly sanguine in her eyes, drenched in blood and history and the honest cruelty of war.
"Okay," she echoes against his back. Then: "Come."
Gentle but insistent she takes his hand, unwrapping herself from around him only enough to guide him away, toward the stairs and the bath above. Never fully breaking cotnact Amalia tugs him to the second floor, past their shared bedroom and into the bathroom. She makes no move to fill the tub - he's far more adept at that than she - but instead turns back to him as the threshold is breached, raising her hands back to his chest.
Slow and steady her slender fingers begin to work the buttons of his shirt, to peel off the layers and reveal the scars she now knows far too much about, each one newly sanguine in her eyes, drenched in blood and history and the honest cruelty of war.
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
