Amalia
the shield of safrin
The man who turns around to face her is the man who she remembers, and at the same time not. For the first time since she met him Finn appears well rested, dressed appropriately, not tired but strong. It surprises her to see it, and with the surprise comes relief. She is fairly confident that the version of the Spyglass she would hallucinate is not this living, confident man.
She takes a step forward, smiling now, relieved and eager to prove that he's real. But her eagerness gives way to a sudden flush of awkward heat as his fingers touch his lips, her own hand dropping to the side she didn't realize it had left. Truth be told Amalia had rather forgotten about the kiss, or at least convinced herself it was entirely imagined; to see this confirmation of their actions catches her off guard.
Embarrassed, it takes her a second to register his next comment. "Oh-? Oh. Yes." Pale camellias bloom in her hair as she turns to look at the tawny wings, tucking them away self-consciously and trying to steady her erratic heart. When she turns back he's moved on, as though their strange interlude at the Inn was nothing more than an amusing anecdote. Is she disappointed? Relieved? She's not sure she wants to know.
"Oh. Something from the Order?" If Amalia's voice comes out cooler and sharper than normal it can be blamed on her frustration with the organization, not her welling uncomfortable feelings about Finn himself. She reaches up to rub her neck, the other bare arm coiled around her muscular waist. "Of course. Do you want to come in? Or would you rather stay out here?"
She takes a step forward, smiling now, relieved and eager to prove that he's real. But her eagerness gives way to a sudden flush of awkward heat as his fingers touch his lips, her own hand dropping to the side she didn't realize it had left. Truth be told Amalia had rather forgotten about the kiss, or at least convinced herself it was entirely imagined; to see this confirmation of their actions catches her off guard.
Embarrassed, it takes her a second to register his next comment. "Oh-? Oh. Yes." Pale camellias bloom in her hair as she turns to look at the tawny wings, tucking them away self-consciously and trying to steady her erratic heart. When she turns back he's moved on, as though their strange interlude at the Inn was nothing more than an amusing anecdote. Is she disappointed? Relieved? She's not sure she wants to know.
"Oh. Something from the Order?" If Amalia's voice comes out cooler and sharper than normal it can be blamed on her frustration with the organization, not her welling uncomfortable feelings about Finn himself. She reaches up to rub her neck, the other bare arm coiled around her muscular waist. "Of course. Do you want to come in? Or would you rather stay out here?"
you drew memories in my mind
i could never erase
you painted colors in my heart
i could never replace
