Amalia
Hope.
You're hope.
It strikes her like a wrecking ball, through the wall of insecure doubts and right into her chest. Hope- the most beautifully terrible thing in this world, the weapon of liars and the promise of gods. Hope, which is fragile as a butterfly's wing and just as capable of changing the world. Hope is a poison, a balm, a draught, a fire that burns with the hottest flame. Hope burns and hope heals and hope makes people fight for change, for freedom, to be better--
Hope is what Vi has been to Amalia all her life, and what she must be to these people now.
She doesn't look at Seraphina, but the tears on her cheeks and the bright bloom of marigolds among her tawny locks tell a tale all their own. "Thank you," the Archangel whispers hoarsely, fervent passion in her alto voice. It feels like a weight lifted away from her shoulders, or a fog blown from her mind. She has a purpose. She is Hope.
And gods, it feels good.
The conversation changes to smaller things, lighter, and Amalia is able to smile up at Sera as the buoyant Artificer stands. "Okay," she says simply, slipping her hand into Sera's and rising to her feet. Jyoti follows, singing merrily as starlight fills the small haven they've created within the approaching storm. "Lead the way, then. I hope you're ready to have more food than you can possibly eat."
You're hope.
It strikes her like a wrecking ball, through the wall of insecure doubts and right into her chest. Hope- the most beautifully terrible thing in this world, the weapon of liars and the promise of gods. Hope, which is fragile as a butterfly's wing and just as capable of changing the world. Hope is a poison, a balm, a draught, a fire that burns with the hottest flame. Hope burns and hope heals and hope makes people fight for change, for freedom, to be better--
Hope is what Vi has been to Amalia all her life, and what she must be to these people now.
She doesn't look at Seraphina, but the tears on her cheeks and the bright bloom of marigolds among her tawny locks tell a tale all their own. "Thank you," the Archangel whispers hoarsely, fervent passion in her alto voice. It feels like a weight lifted away from her shoulders, or a fog blown from her mind. She has a purpose. She is Hope.
And gods, it feels good.
The conversation changes to smaller things, lighter, and Amalia is able to smile up at Sera as the buoyant Artificer stands. "Okay," she says simply, slipping her hand into Sera's and rising to her feet. Jyoti follows, singing merrily as starlight fills the small haven they've created within the approaching storm. "Lead the way, then. I hope you're ready to have more food than you can possibly eat."
