I run to the river and dive straight in
I pray that the water will drown out the din
Guilt: how easy, how comfortable, how right it can feel to wear it as a shroud, envelop oneself in its embrace and give way to the eternal nothingness of righteous self-loathing. It is a familiar place for the Shield, to be sure; now she watches Deimos sink further into it, his agony as clear to her as the beat of her own heart. She remembers the moments and days and weeks after Adam, the wound that still lies open on her heart.
I killed her, he whispers, and the Shield has no response.
Nothing she says can bring back Rexanna. Nothing she does will erase his wound. Sinking lower she presses against him, offering her heart and arms and breath, wishing she could take his grief and carry it all herself. "I'm so sorry," Amalia murmurs into her husband's hair, her eyes closing to bite back the tears that jump so easily to her eyes these days. What will Kiada say when she finds out? And Sam? More thundering concerns, but they are pressed aside for later. He is her concern now, her world.
From somewhere in the temple Jyoti appears, crooning mournfully and pressing her way against Deimos' skin, into his arms if he will let her, trying to offer solace and starlight as she might. Gently Amalia strokes his back as her grandmother often did for her, wishing she could spirit them away to somewhere else, somewhere for just them. "It's not your fault, Deimos," she whispers, lips pressed against his crown once more. "It's a terrible thing, but it's not your fault. She wouldn't blame you. She loved you."
I killed her, he whispers, and the Shield has no response.
Nothing she says can bring back Rexanna. Nothing she does will erase his wound. Sinking lower she presses against him, offering her heart and arms and breath, wishing she could take his grief and carry it all herself. "I'm so sorry," Amalia murmurs into her husband's hair, her eyes closing to bite back the tears that jump so easily to her eyes these days. What will Kiada say when she finds out? And Sam? More thundering concerns, but they are pressed aside for later. He is her concern now, her world.
From somewhere in the temple Jyoti appears, crooning mournfully and pressing her way against Deimos' skin, into his arms if he will let her, trying to offer solace and starlight as she might. Gently Amalia strokes his back as her grandmother often did for her, wishing she could spirit them away to somewhere else, somewhere for just them. "It's not your fault, Deimos," she whispers, lips pressed against his crown once more. "It's a terrible thing, but it's not your fault. She wouldn't blame you. She loved you."
i swallow the sound and it swallows me whole
'Til there's nothing left inside my soul
Amalia
