Amalia
the archangel
How far they've come indeed. The Amalia who once showed up quietly urgent at Ronin's house is a distant thing now, though there are times when the tentative baker still shines through. Times like now, as she gazes down on the dove-grey gloves, her fingers fluttering delicately over the soft yet strong leather. "Oh," she breathes, looking up to Ronin with a flush across her cheeks. "Oh, they're beautiful."
Her hands fit perfectly in the gloves, and the leather pulls over her knuckles like a second skin. "Ronin, I.. thank you," the girl murmurs, pressing her hair behind her ear with a leather-donned hand. "I'll try- I'll do you proud."
She has nothing to offer in response- nothing but this. Quietly Amalia removes the gloves, clearly thinking about something. She stacks them atop themselves on the table, lingering a second before glancing back up. "Ronin... Do you want me to ask Vi for help? Restoring your abilities?"
Her hands fit perfectly in the gloves, and the leather pulls over her knuckles like a second skin. "Ronin, I.. thank you," the girl murmurs, pressing her hair behind her ear with a leather-donned hand. "I'll try- I'll do you proud."
She has nothing to offer in response- nothing but this. Quietly Amalia removes the gloves, clearly thinking about something. She stacks them atop themselves on the table, lingering a second before glancing back up. "Ronin... Do you want me to ask Vi for help? Restoring your abilities?"
she's just like the weather
can't hold her together
can't hold her together
