and look for the stars as the sun goes down
each breath that you take has a thunderous sound
each breath that you take has a thunderous sound
This unflappably sunny Remi who talks about children and bakers is rather a shock to Amalia; were it not for the unmistakable physical changes in him, she might think they were back in the Hollowed Grounds laughing and discussing cakes, years and lifetimes ago. But this place and this person are not what she remembers: Amalia and Remi are both more and less than those sunny, bygone youth.
Is there a fine mist of tears in her eyes, or is that just the light of her halo? Either way Amalia suddenly looks away, her voice gruff with gratitude for something she didn't know she needed. "I... Yeah. Thank you," is the muted, murmured answer that doesn't say everything she feels. But validation, the feeling of being seen- well. The Shield trusts Remi to understand just how much it means.
But then things shift to flowers and children. The tension has drained from Amalia's features, replaced by weariness and curiosity. "Hmm," she muses thoughtfully, "Some of them. The ones that grow in the Grounds too, yes- and I'm trying to learn some of the others. To bake with." It's the only thing that's kept her sane in these long, long weeks.
Is there a fine mist of tears in her eyes, or is that just the light of her halo? Either way Amalia suddenly looks away, her voice gruff with gratitude for something she didn't know she needed. "I... Yeah. Thank you," is the muted, murmured answer that doesn't say everything she feels. But validation, the feeling of being seen- well. The Shield trusts Remi to understand just how much it means.
But then things shift to flowers and children. The tension has drained from Amalia's features, replaced by weariness and curiosity. "Hmm," she muses thoughtfully, "Some of them. The ones that grow in the Grounds too, yes- and I'm trying to learn some of the others. To bake with." It's the only thing that's kept her sane in these long, long weeks.
Amalia
