acres of longing, mountains of tenderness
Is she Safrin? Is she a star? Does he love her? Who is he? Amalia does not know the answers to any of these questions, all she knows is that he is shadow and smoke and she is light, and thus they must belong. Why would I guide you? she asks with something that might be a laugh, a whuff of music notes that turn to gravel in her throat.
She turns back, still running, still chasing the light. Motes and fireflies and tiki torches and the edge of the world: she follows them all, or thinks she does, chasing down oblivion and eternity at once. Why do you love the stars? she wonders. Why should they love you?
She turns back, still running, still chasing the light. Motes and fireflies and tiki torches and the edge of the world: she follows them all, or thinks she does, chasing down oblivion and eternity at once. Why do you love the stars? she wonders. Why should they love you?
Amalia
