meet me where the falling stars live
i will wait for you
Of course he doesn't like honey. Amalia nearly scoffs, holding the amusement by some minor miracle. Instead she shrugs, looking at her hands. "My grandmother used to make scones with me every morning. They were her favorite. And Deimos planted the lavender bushes around the shop." Her cheeks color, suddenly embarrassed, and pushes a lock of hair back. "And, y'know... They taste good."
Amalia nods slowly, remembering the old bookmaker and his stall. She'd loved it as a child, stopping in to try and read books of lore while her mother wasn't looking. That Cornelius had been a friend to Sam when he needed one most warms her a little, despite the guilt of her own absence.
There is no question for her to follow, so she thinks it fair to ask another. "Do you ever write books yourself? Or... Anything?"
Amalia nods slowly, remembering the old bookmaker and his stall. She'd loved it as a child, stopping in to try and read books of lore while her mother wasn't looking. That Cornelius had been a friend to Sam when he needed one most warms her a little, despite the guilt of her own absence.
There is no question for her to follow, so she thinks it fair to ask another. "Do you ever write books yourself? Or... Anything?"
day and night
