and all this devotion was rushing over me
He's calm and quiet against her storm, something Amalia desperately needs. Her own attempts to shield her features are predictably pointless; she opens her eyes to stare at her hands, balled into fists on top of a book, sharp claws at their ends. Fur ripples down her neck and shoulders, and scales glitter among the shrapnel scars that litter the left side of her face. It's an interesting and painfully out-of-place display in this place of un-Attuned. Jyoti croons softly, looking over to Falke with baleful eyes that beg for help.
But then Amalia exhales, shaking her head. "I wouldn't want to take you from your research," the Angel says softly, a sad smile on her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm fine." Her eyes are moist when they turn up to Falke, underlined by a sad smile. "Well, I'm not. But the things that are broken in me... Even you probably couldn't fix."
But then Amalia exhales, shaking her head. "I wouldn't want to take you from your research," the Angel says softly, a sad smile on her lips. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm fine." Her eyes are moist when they turn up to Falke, underlined by a sad smile. "Well, I'm not. But the things that are broken in me... Even you probably couldn't fix."
Amalia
