From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
08-28-2020, 06:02 PM (This post was last modified: 08-28-2020, 06:28 PM by Amalia.)
Amalia
the shield of safrin
She is sitting at the edge of a cliff, looking down upon the sea which breaks and churns in violent rhythms, tearing apart and recreating over and over again.
There is a house behind her, small and simple, encased in a garden abundant with plants. It is her house- she knows this even though she cannot see it, has never laid eyes on the building before. And inside the house there is a life that she will never lead, a life she can never admit to wanting because it will never be hers.
Even here, even now, she is too afraid to dream.
She is wearing a white dress, thin and delicate. Her arms and legs are bare. She sits with her feet dangling into nothing and she is not afraid. It would be easier to jump into the ocean than to turn and look at the house. Her bones would break and her lungs would fill and still it would hurt less than knowing what it she cannot have, what she has left behind. It is easier to stare into nightmares than try to touch forbidden dreams.
That way when you do awaken, you will feel relief and not regret.
It's a miserable day, that much is for sure: the sea is roiling with it and the air has a bite. Normally, he's one for long lay-ins, letting the bad weather rush over the house and only re-emerging into the outside world when it returns to sun. That had been the plan for this day, until he'd turned over in bed and found that his arms couldn't find the familiar warmth next to him, the reassurance of another presence.
"Y'know, it's way too fucking cold out here for you to be wearing something as flimsy as that." Adam said matter-of-factly as he came up behind Amalia, dressed himself in a swiftly tossed on pair of leather pants (did pants come in any other material? As far as he was concerned, no) and a loose shirt. Going to kneel beside her, one hand on her shoulder, he looked her up and down, then glanced to the sea. "Not that I don't appreciate the view, but you're gonna get ill, out here."
Of course, this isn't real. None of it is and none of it ever has been; he's dead and gone and married to someone else and she's alive and also married to someone else...but somewhere, between the realms of dreams and the afterlife, pieces of their soul crave this life enough to create a small fragment of it, just for now. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Adam stands, holding out a hand to help Amalia up.
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
There are footsteps on the path behind her. Those aren't supposed to be there.
There's a figure kneeling beside her, his hand on her shoulder both wonderfully familiar and terribly strange, the sound of his voice a wound and a balm, the press of his lips fire and ice. "You aren't supposed to be here," Amalia murmurs breathlessly, closing her eyes and leaning into the kiss upon her temple as though it were the most natural thing in the world. And it is - a natural thing in this world, where the things she most fears and most yearns for can manifest, wretchedly beautiful and enticingly cruel.
It doesn't hurt that he feels so real, right down to his musty, slightly unwashed smell. Eyes still closed she shakes her head, trying to figure out why this feels so right and yet so wrong. "Did I wake you?" she finds herself asking, opening her eyes and turning just enough that his silhouette exists in the periphery of her vision, her mind still unwilling to give name or shape to the man. For some reason she feels cold, thinking about him asleep. "You seemed so peaceful, but I... oh, I missed you so much."
With a huff of confused laughter, Adam raised an eyebrow. "Not supposed to be here? What, am I interrupting your date with the rain?" He joked, fondly shaking his head. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, maybe he understood what it was she meant, but this was Amalia's dream: he was merely an element within it, and did not delve too deep into his own introspection.
"Nah, I woke up when the window banged around in the wind. We have got to fix that." He said, with the tone of someone that said this very phrase every time there was a storm. Reaching out his hand again for her to get up, putting it more determinedly in front of her, he laughed again, unsure of what to say to that - as far as he was concerned, he'd last seen her the night prior, where he'd kept her up a little too late then fallen asleep still laughing over a joke she didn't find funny (which meant he had to repeat it a million times, of course).
Fingers stretching out, he waved his hand. "C'mon. Get up - you've been out here so long you're going crazy, babe."
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
It feels like something he's said a thousand times, even though a part of Amalia's brain knows she's never heard it before. That's the things about dreams: they feel so deceptively real, and gods does Amalia want this to be.
Again his hand enters into her vision, but this time she doesn't ignore it. Her fingers slip into his so easily, hands clasped as though it were perfectly natural for them to act like this. "If I'm crazy it's because you made me that way," she replies immediately, wrinkling her nose. With a soft chuckle Amalia at last shifts, entranced despite her trepidation to leave the sea behind. To let herself turn back and see him, really see him---
It hits her like a wave.
"Adam," Amalia whispers fiercely, her voice a smoky prayer. He looks exactly like he's supposed to, which is to day both the same and different as he did. Still terribly scarred and ruggedly handsome, he's less skinny than she remembers, filled out from her incessant need to cook and feed and care for him. Tears spring up in her dark eyes; fiercely, swiftly, she wipes them away with the heel of her hand, color on her windswept cheeks. "Sorry, I- I had the strangest dreams."
Adam laughed, glad that the Amalia he knew was making an appearance again; over the years they'd developed a language of playful banter and jokes designed just for them. When they needed to, they could be serious, but for the most part this said what they needed to without the exact words; smiles and one liners saying over and over: hey, I love you. I'm here for you.
"It's a good kinda crazy, thou--" He began, but stopped as she whispered his name as if she hadn't seen him for years, tears springing to her eyes. It was clear from his expression he was confused, but he'd been there through endless ups and downs (Caido liked to pile stress on Amalia, and by extension, him, regularly) and knew immediately what to do.
Gently he came forward to put an arm around her, begin walking up to the little house slowly, his other hand stroking her arm closest to him. "Hey, no need to apologise, right? Let's get in the house, I'll try make you a cup of tea without fucking up and pouring the leaves all over like I did yesterday, and we'll talk about it. How's that sound?"
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
A part of her knows that if she leaves the cliff side she's giving into the siren song of this unreality, but a greater part simply doesn't care. She's too fragile to fight against the allure of the dream any longer, to do anything but lean into the arm around her shoulders and press her head against his chest as though she'd been doing it all her life. "I think there might still be leaves in my teeth," she complains teasingly, turning her head up towards him and bearing a mouth full of leopard fangs for him to inspect.
Somehow they're inside already, even though she doesn't remember walking up the steps. She's sitting at a well-worn table, watching Adam move through the kitchen with a familiar ease. "I still feel like I'm dreaming," she admits, tracing patterns in the grain with delicate, slender fingers. "Like there's something important I've forgotten about. Do you ever feel like that?"
Laughing, Adam pretended to shudder at her sharp feline teeth, though he'd grown long used to Amalia's animal attributes (and her to his, for that matter: feathers and scales were not an uncommon sight on him in moments of surprise or distress). "At least I got most of them out of the floorboards. That was a hell of a job."
If Adam notices how quickly they are at the house, he doesn't comment on it, immediately sorting through a cupboard as if he had been doing for the last minute, looking for Amalia's favourite cup. He'd once had a reputation of being a callous layabout that slept with anyone but stayed with no one, but in the years since he'd learnt just how wonderful a true connection could be, how much he wanted to make her smile through something simple as a pattern on a teacup.
Finding it, he put it down on the table. "...Did you take something from my special box?" Adam asked with a laugh, but quickly grew serious again. "I think everyone feels like that sometimes, Ama. I can't think of anything you haven't done, and as far as I know this isn't a dream. I dunno, pinch me." Holding out a hand towards her as he went to grab the kettle, Adam gave Amalia one of his classic winking smirks.
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
The starwhale patterned cup has never failed to make Amalia smile, and now as she holds it she can feel warmth pooling out through her hands at the simple perfection of the gesture. "Not since last time," the Shield snorts, remembering the last time she'd rummaged around his box of treats and found entirely the wrong pills. Adam had come home to find her sitting on the kitchen floor, all their teacups spread out before her as she soliloquized on the importance of choosing high quality flour.
She takes the offered hand in her own, not pinching but holding it between her fingers, tracing the lines on his palm. "I think I've been horribly selfish, A," she murmurs, but there's a smile curling at her lips, bright light in her eyes. "You've been rubbing off on me. You're a terrible influence, sir."
"Mm. I'm pretty sure you said then I had to make sure it never happened again; I'm starting to wonder I failed my duty." Laughing, Adam tucked her hair behind her ear, then somehow without moving away her cup was full and he was scooting a chair close to her, leaning on the table with his elbows to look at his love's face: even when she was doing crazy shit like going out to stare at the sea in a storm, he thought she was beautiful.
Amalia took his hand but instead of pinching as offered, traced over his skin gently; he let her do it, idly watching her work. "Selfish? How's that? And hey, I ain't all that bad. I even let you have the last scone last night." He pointed out, giving her one of his best smirking smiles; Amalia's tendency to bake and bake meant there would always be more snacks to come. "Might have rubbed off on you though. Last night I recall rubbing off on you quite a lot...hm. That sounds kinda gross, actually." Adam laughed quietly and shook his head.
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
"I don't know." She raises his hand up to her face, setting his palm against her cheek and leaning into the caress. "It's strange. I don't know how to explain it. It feels like this is all too good. Like I don't deserve to be here, as happy as I am." And yet here she is, perfectly comfortable in this kitchen she does not know, wanting desperately to belong.
At his joke about rubbing off on her. she wrinkles her nose, opening her eyes to glare playfully at him as color floods into her cheeks. "I take it back. You're horrible." She may have opened up to new experiences with Adam - many, many new experiences - but Amalia is still something of a prude when it comes to actually discussing sex.
Releasing him at last, Amalia shakes her head ruefully and picks up the cup of tea. It tastes like nostalgia and yearning and ginger; she hums a note of appreciation, once more closing her eyes. "Do I do the right thing, Adam?" she wonders, and suddenly she's not talking about the dream. Reality cuts through like a knife, the metallic gleam of it glittering behind the veneer of the dream. Dark eyes flutter open; she stares into the tea. "Leaving him? I didn't want to hurt him, I just... couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep lying to myself."
As she rested her head in his palm Adam stroked his thumb over her cheek, a fond and soft smile on his own face. "Why wouldn't you deserve it, Ama? It's not like we're living in a palace; we're just two happy people that have each other. You deserve that as much as anyone else does, right?" He asks, wondering just what she thought she didn't deserve in their modest home, in his scruffy self.
He did laugh at her 'glare' and stuck his tongue out, always finding her embarrassment around sex funny. The mood shifted quickly after though, his hand moving back as Amalia leaned forward. When she asks her question, of course he knows what she means, even as it contradicts everything so far about this reality: suddenly he is Adam the Friend, ready to give advice on her current situation as if he had been around to see it.
"I don't know if there's a 'right' or 'wrong' thing with stuff like this, y'know?" He leaned forward to rest his chin on his hand, looking sideways at her. "What exactly were you lying to yourself about? Don't ya love him? You seemed pretty fucking keen at one point."
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
"Mmm, I suppose you're right." It's hard to argue with his logic, the simplicity of it resonating with the parts of her that do not want to question this dream. Let it happen, let it last- I deserve this, she tells herself, and only half doubts it.
The shift in dynamic is clear and easy, as these things are in dreams. She stares down into the cup of tea, seeing faces and moments reflected, the past and the present and the future that shall never be. "I do love him," Amalia confirms, a small, sad smile on her lips. "So much. And I think I always will. I needed him, y'know? He, he made me better than I was. I couldn't have become what I am without him."
Her smile fades, and the images do too, the tea becoming tea once more. "I still love him, but... It's not the same. I'm not the same. And I don't know if I can go back."
Again the sad smile curls on her lips; again she looks at Adam, scarred and handsome and gone too soon. "I loved you too, you know," she murmurs, dark eyes bright with tears. "Sometimes I wish it had been you. Did... you ever feel that way?"
He liked it when she admitted he was right about something, especially when that thing concerned how good she was: Adam could see in Amalia a million amazing things, so much potential and grace, intelligence, beauty; when she seemed to catch a glimpse of it, it was a wonderful thing.
A dream figment as he was, Adam didn't seem to mind Amalia suddenly confessing her love for another man, nodding and smiling at the comment: in his mind, he thought that meant there was something to fix, at least. Something to try and rescue. The way she continued to speak in past tense though, as if Deimos was something she had already moved on from...that worried him a little. Fiddling with a loose chip in a corner of the table, he nodded and listened, frowning at the wall as he tried to think of what to say.
"What's not the same about it? It hasn't been all that long, has it?" It seemed like they hadn't been together long enough for significant change, the kind of change that would break a relationship.
Amalia smiled at him then and he thought she might be about to tell him of something Deimos had done or said, the words that actually left her had him staring. A moment later though, he gave a soft smile and nodded, reaching over to lay a hand over hers. "...Yeah. Y'know, I did once ask if y'wanted to make out. I did mean it." A laugh, then he's serious again. "For real though, Ama. I did...get close to loving you, but you'd chosen your guy, so I went to go get mine. If we got a chance to do it all again...well, who knows? We're a pretty great pair, huh?" Moving his hand up he cupped her chin for a second, lifting her face to look at his own.
So collect your courage and collect your horse
And pray you never feel this same kind of remorse
