no amount of guilt can change the past && no amount of anxiety can change the future
In the breaths that pass Amalia feels the world grow eerily still. Bugs stop their chittering, the wind grow silent; it is as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for a pin to drop. Amalia stares at Adam with the wide eyes of someone who knows she has made a mistake and feels so deeply afraid and relieved, who wants to believe in the dream she has carried for so long, who yearns for a different world. She expects him to laugh at her, or gently let her down, or even get mad (he's married, after all). But she's leaning closer and she closes her eyes, and then his hand s on her cheek, and hers is on his chest, and she's leaning into it, and his lips are on hers, and it feels so...
...so....
....cold.
She's dreamt of this moment countless times, but in all her dreams his lips were warm. They weren't this, this, this mockery of him, this chill lifeless skin suit that's been wrapped around a mechanical beast, powered by a shadow of the man she loved. Adam had always been so alive - now she cannot even feel a heartbeat beneath her palm, nothing, nothing, but empty circuits, but frigid metal, but chrome. She's mourned him for so long and so deeply, never letting go; and when he'd come back she'd thought that maybe, maybe, maybe now she might heal.
She cannot bear to look up at him as she pushes him away, gently but barring no room for protest, her strength uncontestable as her body shakes.
"I'm sorry." She cannot look at him, but the hard lines in her face are unmistakable as she steels herself against her pain, armored with anger and despair. Adam has been an open wound in her chest since the day he died. But this, this thing? This isn't Adam. This is a cruel joke of the Voice.
"I was wrong. I love Adam, but you aren't him. You're something the Voice stole and wrapped in his skin. You may have Adam's face, his memories... but you don't have his heart. You aren't him."
She turns away then, so he doesn't see the tears that she's barely holding back as they fall onto her cheeks. Wings spread out from between her shoulders, creating another barrier between them. Amalia's heart broke when Adam died, and now it is breaking all over again- but this time, it will heal.
...so....
....cold.
She's dreamt of this moment countless times, but in all her dreams his lips were warm. They weren't this, this, this mockery of him, this chill lifeless skin suit that's been wrapped around a mechanical beast, powered by a shadow of the man she loved. Adam had always been so alive - now she cannot even feel a heartbeat beneath her palm, nothing, nothing, but empty circuits, but frigid metal, but chrome. She's mourned him for so long and so deeply, never letting go; and when he'd come back she'd thought that maybe, maybe, maybe now she might heal.
She cannot bear to look up at him as she pushes him away, gently but barring no room for protest, her strength uncontestable as her body shakes.
"I'm sorry." She cannot look at him, but the hard lines in her face are unmistakable as she steels herself against her pain, armored with anger and despair. Adam has been an open wound in her chest since the day he died. But this, this thing? This isn't Adam. This is a cruel joke of the Voice.
"I was wrong. I love Adam, but you aren't him. You're something the Voice stole and wrapped in his skin. You may have Adam's face, his memories... but you don't have his heart. You aren't him."
She turns away then, so he doesn't see the tears that she's barely holding back as they fall onto her cheeks. Wings spread out from between her shoulders, creating another barrier between them. Amalia's heart broke when Adam died, and now it is breaking all over again- but this time, it will heal.
Amalia
