Amalia
the archangel
Could be tomorrow. Could be ten years. Amalia may not be able to see Ronin wince, but from behind he'll clearly see the fur that rippled over her exposed neck, and the hand that rubs unhappily against the back of her head. "Gods," she murmurs forcefully, though it is precisely gods who got them into this situation.
Amalia moves aside to make room for Ronin, the long-forgotten package balanced on her hip. His joke about stairs draws a surprised snort from her; "How long ago was that?" she wonders, lips pursed as she tries to remember. Eventually she gives up, shrugging and shaking her head. "What a disaster. Sometimes it felt like everything we did just made things worse." They hadn't saved the Tulmhainar. They hadn't stopped the blight. They hadn't stopped the Voice.
They come to the door to her rooms now, and Amalia shifts, pressing the package between her hip and the wall and digging through her pockets for her key. When eventually she manages it the door swings open to reveal her comfortable little suite: a small sitting room leading to a kitchen, with a bedroom off the back. There's flowers in various stages of life scattered in small vases throughout, and a rack of herbs hangs to dry above the oven. "Sit wherever. I'll make some tea."
Amalia moves aside to make room for Ronin, the long-forgotten package balanced on her hip. His joke about stairs draws a surprised snort from her; "How long ago was that?" she wonders, lips pursed as she tries to remember. Eventually she gives up, shrugging and shaking her head. "What a disaster. Sometimes it felt like everything we did just made things worse." They hadn't saved the Tulmhainar. They hadn't stopped the blight. They hadn't stopped the Voice.
They come to the door to her rooms now, and Amalia shifts, pressing the package between her hip and the wall and digging through her pockets for her key. When eventually she manages it the door swings open to reveal her comfortable little suite: a small sitting room leading to a kitchen, with a bedroom off the back. There's flowers in various stages of life scattered in small vases throughout, and a rack of herbs hangs to dry above the oven. "Sit wherever. I'll make some tea."
she's just like the weather
can't hold her together
can't hold her together
