From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
01-29-2021, 12:18 AM (This post was last modified: 01-29-2021, 02:42 PM by Amalia.)
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
After the meeting, Amalia gets lost.
It is both literal and figurative, in this case. She intended to flee back to her apartments, to lock the door and hide from the world and the roar of panic that presses at her ears. But the Tower is labyrinthine, and at some point a wrong turn leads her in entirely the wrong direction. Instead of her apartments she finds herself in crowded halls, trying desperately to avoid eye contact, to keep herself from falling apart in front of an audience. One foot goes in front of the other, leading her wherever it is she's going to wind up. She focuses on that, gaze trained to the ground - because otherwise the things inside her head might be able to get out.
Maybe it's some cosmic trick of the universe that she winds up in a library. Years ago Amalia had endured another trauma, and instead of finding strength to move on, lost herself to books. Now as she wanders through the stacks of silent ghosts she is reminded of those days. The scent of parchment, the soft whisper of pages, the towering shelves of history and dreams - she'd let herself be buried beneath it all, blinded herself by the shadows they cast, hidden from the cruel light that illuminated an unforgiving world.
Slender fingers travel idly over lovingly bound spines. She is aimless, lost, trying hard to keep from thinking, and it is thus that she finds herself sinking deeper and deeper into the recesses of the Archive. Until at last the Archangel finds herself cornered, unable to flee any further as the marble pillars of the library close around and shut her in. She stops then, alone in a shadowed corner, and leans her forehead on the cold wall.
01-29-2021, 09:19 PM (This post was last modified: 01-29-2021, 09:32 PM by Finn.)
my demons, though quiet, are never quite silenced
Finn is not lost, but nor has he intended to be found either. After the meeting, he has taken himself into the Archive for research purposes, intending to tease out anything that was said or suggested that might help with the sudden influx of new Ascended. His notes from the meeting have been packed away very carefully, so the Spyglass is empty handed as he peruses the shelves. Indeed, he has just found something he thinks might be worth investigation when he realises he is not alone in the stacks.
Turning his head, his curls a soft mess falling about his face, his tired eyes catch on the sight of Amalia facing one of the walls. Long fingers pause in their reach for the book he's found, and he clears his throat awkwardly. "Are you feeling alright?" Obviously not by the fact that he's quite certain she's crying, but expecting any more from Finn is a bit much.
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
It presses in like so many shadows, drilling against the careful defenses she's built against such an attack. Anxiety, fear, panic, sorrow - and happiness, and guilt for being happy, and a helpless, childlike confusion underneath it all. All of these play prismatic just below the surface of Amalia's skin, threatening to tear her into like shards of whetted luminescence as the threads that hold her psyche together grow evermore taut and frayed. Wound as she is it can be no surprise that she starts at the sound of another voice, flinching visibly as she whirls to face whoever has intruded on her sanctum.
She's not quite crying as she turns around - indeed, once the initial surprise wears off what's left is a sort of sanguine stillness, punctuated by a thin and trembling smile that does not reach her eyes. "Oh. Finn," the girl says dumbly, as though he needed to be reminded of his own name. A brittle laugh leaves her; she reaches up to run her hand through her hair, back now to the marble wall, barely able to hold her own weight. He must have seen her flee the meeting - they all must have - and gods, what a fool she must seem to them now. "Not... not especially, no. Um. You?"
Finn's hands retreat back away from the book he'd been about to select, as if he has just realised he's left them hanging there. Down to his sides they go, where they instantly start to worry at a thread near the bottom of his shirt. "Oh," he echoes, unsure how to navigate these waters and clearing his throat awkwardly "I'm doing well," he replies automatically, before glancing back around the library as if it might offer some sort of help.
Quite what help, he doesn't know. "Is there... can I help at all?" he asks, relying on social conventions that he knows he can follow the strings of, but it's like a scarf unravelling before him. "Or do you... would you prefer to be alone?"
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
A distant part of her finds it endearing, how clearly lost for how to respond to her the Spyglass is. She feels bad for him, finding her like this- gods know she wouldn't know how to deal with it, would probably try to flee. And yet he stays, and that alone eases some of Amalia's tension, softening and breaking some of the shield she wears around her heart.
There's nothing he can do to help but be there, and the Archangel finds herself shaking her head before snapping back up as he suggests that he might leave. "No- that is," Amalia says awkwardly, quickly looking away from Finn with another mirthless smile. "I... will you stay? Please? I think it would be worse if I was alone."
Despite himself, Finn's feet are already trying to get him out of there, and so when Amalia admits that she'd like him to stay, the Spyglass has to force himself back into place. Clearing his throat, he rakes a hand back through unruly curls and makes himself straighten up, to look at least something like the man who is part of the Order, who can be trusted with things. "Alright," he says.
"Did... are you here on purpose?" He gestures to the stacks of books around there. It's a peculiar part of the Archive, specific to old texts about the Voice and anything they might know about Ascended. Based on the fact that Amalia knew the names of many of those returned, he's unsure if she's trying to find more information.
02-01-2021, 02:41 PM (This post was last modified: 02-01-2021, 02:41 PM by Amalia.)
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
"Thank you." If Amalia could smile with any warmth she would; as it is she offers a wavering curve of her lips, glancing fleetingly at Finn before refocusing on her feet. As for finding herself here intentionally? "I... no. I just... I was looking for somewhere safe. I guess that's always been libraries, for me."
It is only now that Amali allows herself to really take in the names on the books that surround her, the small hand-written signs dedicating this section of the Archives to writings on The Ascended and The Voice. It hits her like a sucker-punch, making her inhale sharply. What do these books say about them? These people, these friends?
"I must have looked like an idiot in that meeting. It's just..." She trails off, biting down on her lip in thought. "I knew them, Finn. Know them. Before- Adam was my best friend. Kiada... she was like family. And both of them died because of me."
Sighing, Amalia slowly slides down the length of the pillar, until she's sitting on the ground, her legs pulled up to her chin. "And now they're alive - kind of - and I don't know if I should be happy or sad or scared or guilty or, or what. I don't know what it means for the future. And I'm terrified."
"It has always been high places, for me," Finn says without realising he has offered that tidbit of information, the Spyglass clearing his throat and lingering as awkwardly before her now as he ever has done. Still, he manages a gentle smile as she berates herself, shrugging his shoulders. "I do not think you were an idiot," he says. "I imagine it must be a difficult thing, to lose friends and see them come back in this way."
To condemn themselves to a life of servitude to the Voice, and to be killed so mercilessly when the time eventually came. It would not fill Finn with joy, either. "It means they will die again," he says quietly, shrugging his shoulders and seeming unhappy to deliver such news, but sure about it all the same. "I am sorry that they made those choices, Amalia. I believe Gideon would probably be able to give you sound advice, at this time."
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
If his first statement is comforting, the second is anything but, Amalia looking up sharply as Finn's condemnation comes down like a guillotine on the slender thread of her hope. At least the mention of Gideon has her nearly-smiling, her face pulled into a wry grimace as she shakes her head, imagining what advice Gideon might give. "He'd just say something condescending and sanctimonious." She shakes her head, snorting. "Or explain how I'm Vi's Chosen, so I shouldn't care about some evil Ascended, no matter who they used to be."
Her tone sours as she trails off, the brief mirth giving way to weary resignation. "But why," she murmurs hoarsely, dark eyes wide and hapless as she searches in his face for answers. "Why do they have to die? All of the Ascended- they're just people, Finn. People who fell for false promises and made bad choices and became trapped by them." With a heavy sigh the Shield looks back down, rubbing her forehead with the knuckle of her thumb.
"He is a priest," Finn points out, and Amalia can take that in any number of ways. Indeed, were Finn the charismatic type it might even have been wry and funny, but as it is it barely offers a hint of levity in such a fraught situation. It doesn't last long, and as her barrage of existential why is levelled at him, the Spyglass can only writhe in his discomfort and shake his head to her, uncomprehending of their decisions and her empathy both.
"They were already dead," he murmurs. "They were in Mort's realm, where they were meant to be. They chose to turn their back on it. And the rest of the Ascended... they made their choices willingly, as well. There is no going back. The Old Gods will not suffer the Voice and her disrespect."
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
It's almost the same answer Vi gave her, and just as dissatisfying coming from his lips. Amalia sighs, rubbing her forehead wearily. "I know you're right," she murmurs wearily, looking down at the ground. "But that doesn't mean it feels right."
But it is what her god wills, and so it is what she must do.
There is no use dwelling on her existential crisis, especially if it risks making Finn even more uncomfortable. Amalia looks up at him with a sad smile, wiping the last of her tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry- I've felt so unsteady lately." Softly, wryly, she laughs. "What were you researching? Maybe I can help. If... If you don't mind."
"I have never known someone who Ascended," Finn says slowly. "So I have never had to think about these sorts of things. I can understand the conflict, but... why would anyone do that to themselves?" It isn't a question that he can answer, and so he doesn't try. He considers reaching out, for a moment, to offer the comfort he knows that people seek in these sorts of moments, but his own insecurities and Amalia's sudden rallying stay his hands.
"Oh, uh..." He glances back to the stacks, to the rows of old books, reaching out to run his fingers over them. "If you'd like. I find putting my mind to work helps me, when I don't feel steady," he says. Finn reaches up to pluck one of the works down; it's old, barely legible, but that's what researchers are for. "I am trying to look for evidence of the first Ascended. And how they came to be. What happened at the Festival of Lights is unprecedented, as far as I know."
i sat with my anger long enough she told me her real name was grief
"My brother is Ascended." It's something she hasn't told many - perhaps any - in Stormbreak, and now she glances sidelong at Finn, wondering how he'll react to the confession. "His - our - father - and his mother - told him to do it when he was young. That it would make him stringers and happier." She shrugs, having come to terms with the fact that at the end, Sam made this choice. It's what comes next that angers her, makes her set her jaw.
"The Voice kept asking too much of her children. Last year, he told me he was going to leave her. Did leave- and she punished him for it. Took away his strength and abilities, so he began to waste away." She'd been so proud of him; the sting of disappointment still tastes bitter in her mouth. Her arms tighten around her knees, fingers rubbing irately over her calves. "So he went back to her. Because it was either that or death. That's what I mean when I say they're trapped."
She moves beside Finn as he takes a book, peering into the faded pages with all the innocent and keen interest of a would-have-been librarian. "Properly Ascended, or one of the prototypes?" Amalia asks, tone distantly thoughtful. "Maybe the Spire Demon or the LongNight monsters? They're said to be early creations of hers. Or the P- the, um, creature who lives under the Grounds."
Finn can only wince a bit as Amalia starts to talk about her brother. He does of course feel for her, having that connection, but the Spyglass is born and bred within these high walls. He knows more of the world than most, indeed, but that does not change prejudice. It does not change much, in fact. "How are they any more or less trapped than those who worship the Old Gods?" he wonders with his eyes upon the book in his hands. "I am sorry about your brother. That seems like a heavy burden to bear."
He raises his eyebrows to hear about the proto-Ascended, tilting his head and flicking through the pages of the book. "Both," he says slowly. "I think the first real Ascended would be more interesting, as it would show the successful change between mortal and Ascended. But... anything would be a start."
