meet me where the falling stars live
i will wait for you
The little bat on her finger squeaks inquisitively in response to Amalia's shifting emotions, the quicksand of her anxiety desperately seeking to drag her down. It had been foolish to declare her desire for family so openly, to give him the room to respond with a fair no.
But Sam does not reject her outright, so maybe there is hope.
Not moving away from the bookshelf she watches, owlish, as he finds himself a chair. Part of her wants to protest - if not Attuned or Ascended, what are they? - but she waits instead, finger rubbing absently over the humming bat's head.
When the question does come Amalia blinks, raising an eyebrow, clearly surprised. A soft huff of laughter leaves her lips; "Um. I guess, uh, scones. With lavender and honey." There's a longer story to the why, but it isn't what he asked.
Opening her fingers to let the bat fly away, Amalia hums thoughtfully a moment, watching it flutter away. "Why did you decide to make books?"
But Sam does not reject her outright, so maybe there is hope.
Not moving away from the bookshelf she watches, owlish, as he finds himself a chair. Part of her wants to protest - if not Attuned or Ascended, what are they? - but she waits instead, finger rubbing absently over the humming bat's head.
When the question does come Amalia blinks, raising an eyebrow, clearly surprised. A soft huff of laughter leaves her lips; "Um. I guess, uh, scones. With lavender and honey." There's a longer story to the why, but it isn't what he asked.
Opening her fingers to let the bat fly away, Amalia hums thoughtfully a moment, watching it flutter away. "Why did you decide to make books?"
day and night
