(Open) Paws upon the Stones of Many Colors

She's imperfect, but she tries She is good, but she lies She is hard on herself She is broken and won't ask for help Amalia, too, is enjoying the warm day, taking time to find some peace along the vibrant coast. She hasn't been back here since Jigano disappeared, too many painful memories and unresolved arguments left between them, resentments coloring her memories of the places that they shared. Now, though, as she sits upon the sandy shore, watching fonts of colorful water burst into brief and vibrant bloom, Amalia feels nothing but a deep and aching nostalgia. Things were simpler, choices easier, problems smaller- or so it feels. And though she'd disagreed with the man, Jigano had been like a brother to her. Once Amalia had reached out and found she could touch something almost like family. Now she sits alone. Thus are her musings as she gazes on the water, toes buried under sand, knees tucked to her chin. It's only the sound of padding footsteps on the sand that draws her attention, the baker turning to look at the lion so out of place near the sea. "Hello," she calls out softly, unsure if they're looking for company or not. From over the water Jyoti trills, swimming up to approach the felid with stardust in her wake. "Jyo, don't- don't get in people's faces," Amalia chides softly to the whale. "Sorry about her. She has no sense of personal space." a m a l i a She is messy, but she's kind She is lonely most of the time She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie She is gone, but she used to be mine