Amalia
They speak a little as they walk, light and meaningless things that make Amalia feel strangely comfortable, as though perhaps she could find herself belonging here. Sera does most of the conversing, of course, but the Archangel drinks in every word, stopping to ask questions about the building they pass and stores they see, until finally they duck into a vibrant shop full of finer fabrics than anything the girl has ever seen.
"Oh," Amalia gasps expressively, torn between wonder and overwhelm as Sera guides her into the clothing store. It's nothing like she's ever been in before- so many options! In so many colors! It renders the Archangel somewhat speechless, as her dark eyes flit from object to object with the eager urgency of a swallow.
She's very aware of her shabby clothes and bare, half-shifted feet. Of the now shy forget-me-nots in her tangled hair, of her lack of make-up, of the fact that she is entirely out of her depth. "Um." Helplessly she looks at Sera, pulling on the hem of her tunic. "These are... Um. I don't know where to begin."
"Oh," Amalia gasps expressively, torn between wonder and overwhelm as Sera guides her into the clothing store. It's nothing like she's ever been in before- so many options! In so many colors! It renders the Archangel somewhat speechless, as her dark eyes flit from object to object with the eager urgency of a swallow.
She's very aware of her shabby clothes and bare, half-shifted feet. Of the now shy forget-me-nots in her tangled hair, of her lack of make-up, of the fact that she is entirely out of her depth. "Um." Helplessly she looks at Sera, pulling on the hem of her tunic. "These are... Um. I don't know where to begin."
