Amalia
He does not remember what his home is like- and her heart aches as she considers this, though whether with sympathy or envy remains unclear. To forget where one came from, the fibers and strands that weave the tapestry which makes the history of who they are... it is a cruel sort of freedom, Amalia thinks, a rare chance to rebirth oneself, free of both the good and ill, the memories they carry like millstones around their necks. She is weighed down by hers: they drag through the earth at her feet, curving her spine like that of an old woman, biting and gnawing deep in her bones.
And yet would she give them up, her memories, the pieces which make her who she is? The good and the bad, the cruel and the kind, the bitter and the sweet, the love and the loss?
She does not know. She is glad, then, she does not have to choose.
A solemn nod, an empathetic gaze; she feels wistful on his behalf, yearning for a thing she has never known. "It was yours," she says in quiet response, her dark eyes searching his face for some meaning within, answers to the multitude of questions she still yearns to ask. She thinks she understands, but how can she, in truth, child that she is, born into this place? She knows what it is to lose, but not to lose everything. She still has her home, after all.
Her fingers weave deeper into the luxere's fur, spinning idly at the gentle beast's longer tufts of hair. "I... no," she answers hesitantly, no longer meeting his eyes. A sense of guilt overwhelms at her: who is she to speak of mourning, when she still has never lost the world? "I was born here- in Caido. I have never left." She shrugs, a sharp motion beneath the layers of furs.
And yet would she give them up, her memories, the pieces which make her who she is? The good and the bad, the cruel and the kind, the bitter and the sweet, the love and the loss?
She does not know. She is glad, then, she does not have to choose.
A solemn nod, an empathetic gaze; she feels wistful on his behalf, yearning for a thing she has never known. "It was yours," she says in quiet response, her dark eyes searching his face for some meaning within, answers to the multitude of questions she still yearns to ask. She thinks she understands, but how can she, in truth, child that she is, born into this place? She knows what it is to lose, but not to lose everything. She still has her home, after all.
Her fingers weave deeper into the luxere's fur, spinning idly at the gentle beast's longer tufts of hair. "I... no," she answers hesitantly, no longer meeting his eyes. A sense of guilt overwhelms at her: who is she to speak of mourning, when she still has never lost the world? "I was born here- in Caido. I have never left." She shrugs, a sharp motion beneath the layers of furs.
