[se] the ones who sing in the dead of night

Amalia "I was- I've been-" the explanation of why she hasn't been found falters on her lips; she shakes her head, still smiling brightly, not wanting to dampen this reunion with difficult truths. "I moved," is where she settles, letting her hands drop from his cheeks and rest upon his chest. "I couldn't travel, but I heard- and now you're here." Still breathlessly delighted, she gazes with eyes that are older than the last time he saw her, more lined and worn and weary but no less fervent or bright with ardor. They've sat at some point, settled onto the bridge in this little perfect pocket of world that belongs only to them. And even as Adam asks questions that would shatter it - what's happened, how was the wedding? - the not-Shield forces herself to keep buoyant, to fight against the weights of reality that tether down her feet. Her hands have returned to her lap now, rubbing over her ankles in repetitive motions that give away the worries beneath her sanguine surface. She looks away from Adam, up towards the distant sky. "Gods, so much," the Angel murmurs, shaking her head and closing her eyes as her smile falters. "The wedding was beautiful - we, we saved a spot for you, even though... but Deimos and I, um...." Pain cracks into her smile; she tries and tries to keep it hidden, but still it shines through. A mirthless laugh, and the rubbing intensifies as a leopard tail wraps around her and fur rises on her shoulders, her neck. "Turns out I wasn't ready for marriage. So I... I... I left." reach for the stars: but child, first recognize the constellations of light you already carry inside you