take these broken wings

Seraphina

the artificer

it's cold, it's dark, it's deep and it's wet
and you ain't gonna make it if you don't let someone in

She moves, shudders when her hand touches Amalia’s, and Sera bites down on the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t withdraw, she simply remains there – perhaps taking another large sip of her drink, the barkeep coming over before Amalia has spoken to offer glasses of water for the two women as well as another drink for Sera – something telling them that she’ll need it. And so, the Artificer is grateful for it as her gaze turns back to the Archangel, sorrow lingering in her face at what Amalia says.

Her thumb brushes along Amalia’s hand gently, before she’s standing suddenly, dragging her chair over to sit directly beside the Archangel, finagling the woman’s wing so she might slip in beside her friend, offering her presence in the form of everything an Ascended is not. “He isn’t.” She agrees softly, frowning, sliding the water toward Amalia easily. “The Voice is smart in how she tricks everyone. You know this. You lived in the Grounds with her monsters for years, Amalia.” Her voice is blunt, but gentle as she can be.

“Still, I am sorry that you experienced it with someone close to you.” She frowns, peering down into her own glass of dark amber.

darlin', darlin', why don't you sleep at night?
the colder the heart, the warmer the gun