Amalia
She blooms beneath his affirmation; she cannot help herself. It should not require validation, her act of simple kindness, and yet the girl craves this praise, this reassurance that she has done good. It is a shortcoming, a fault, a reflection in the deep well of insecurity which delves down into her soul, bottomless and crushing, an open mouth with gnashing teeth to swallow any hope of adequacy. But for now the beast is satiated by this praise. It shifts and stills within her stomach, and the girl is able to slightly relax, narrow shoulders dropping some of the tension held within.
That the luxere seem to warm to him soothes the girl further. One hand still clenched in a reindeer's pelt, Amalia half-turns to the man, her dark eyes serious behind a curtain of golden hair. "You are right to worry," is all she says, an ominous warning but in truth the greatest she can give. How can they prepare, the Outlanders, the lost? They have never seen the Long Night, never tasted its horror like sulfur on their tongue. The lands they come from are bright and open, free and clear and beautiful and safe- or so she imagines, at least. "I do," she answers his follow up question, a little brighter now, color in her cheeks. It is the first year in many she will not be alone for Long Night, and though she tells herself it is nothing more than a favor, a fair exchange for food, the girl cannot help but hope that it also means they might be friends.
She turns to the man all at once, her dark eyes glittering with a sudden hunger. "What is it like, the place you're from?" Her face is warm and shy, her smile hesitant and hopeful. "Do you miss it?" Do you think you could be happy, here?
That the luxere seem to warm to him soothes the girl further. One hand still clenched in a reindeer's pelt, Amalia half-turns to the man, her dark eyes serious behind a curtain of golden hair. "You are right to worry," is all she says, an ominous warning but in truth the greatest she can give. How can they prepare, the Outlanders, the lost? They have never seen the Long Night, never tasted its horror like sulfur on their tongue. The lands they come from are bright and open, free and clear and beautiful and safe- or so she imagines, at least. "I do," she answers his follow up question, a little brighter now, color in her cheeks. It is the first year in many she will not be alone for Long Night, and though she tells herself it is nothing more than a favor, a fair exchange for food, the girl cannot help but hope that it also means they might be friends.
She turns to the man all at once, her dark eyes glittering with a sudden hunger. "What is it like, the place you're from?" Her face is warm and shy, her smile hesitant and hopeful. "Do you miss it?" Do you think you could be happy, here?
