Amalia
the shield of safrin
When have I not supported you? Right now! she wants to counter, though she knows it isn't true. Even now he supports her, stays stalwart through her fury despite every right to walk away. It's irritating, agonizing, to always be in the wrong, and yet that is where Amalia finds herself again and again and again, too accustomed to failure to expect anything else.
Beneath the simmering anger and frustration is the the deep current of pain. Of trying of inadequacy, of wanting to be enough. Too little for he goddess, for her god, for her mother, for her lover- and that it doesn't matter what he says, because the feelings, the pain, the struggle is deeper than anything words can soothe. I'm sorry, the refrain of her depression sings, clawing and cloying and desperate to be seen. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Let me good enough. Please, let me try.
None of this is said aloud, but all of it is there, floating in the Attuned bond if he should care to search. She feels it all in a whirlwind of silence, staring up at Deimos with her chin stubbornly set- and yes, breathing, trying desperately to still the typhoon that rages inside her. Come at me, and though all she longs for in that moment is to dissolve into his arms the Shield nods curtly, readying her sword. With a step forward she swings the not-blade in an arc that is parallel to the ground, swiping out towards his side similarly to how she might have used the staff.
Beneath the simmering anger and frustration is the the deep current of pain. Of trying of inadequacy, of wanting to be enough. Too little for he goddess, for her god, for her mother, for her lover- and that it doesn't matter what he says, because the feelings, the pain, the struggle is deeper than anything words can soothe. I'm sorry, the refrain of her depression sings, clawing and cloying and desperate to be seen. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Let me good enough. Please, let me try.
None of this is said aloud, but all of it is there, floating in the Attuned bond if he should care to search. She feels it all in a whirlwind of silence, staring up at Deimos with her chin stubbornly set- and yes, breathing, trying desperately to still the typhoon that rages inside her. Come at me, and though all she longs for in that moment is to dissolve into his arms the Shield nods curtly, readying her sword. With a step forward she swings the not-blade in an arc that is parallel to the ground, swiping out towards his side similarly to how she might have used the staff.
everything that drowned me
taught me how to swim
taught me how to swim
