we cannot become what we want to be by remaining what we are
"I would love to babysit Mateo," is all Amalia really gets to say before the subject changes and the aforementioned onslaught sweeps her off her feet.
Then she's on the ground covered in gourds, panickedly pulling at the vines that cover her mouth. She manages to tear through them and take a deep breath - just in time for Ronin to kick a shower of guts and seeds into her throat, causing the Angel to sputter and cough. It's chaos, and even if she had the presence of mind to scold Ronin for his slaughter she would not, because now, yes, they've gone too damn far.
A ferocious growl tears from between her fangs as Amalia rises to her knees, yanking a particularly aggressive spaghetti squash off a bleeding wound from her neck and throwing it into a corner. "Vi's beard!" she curses around another seed, snarling as she throws a hand to the window where more gourds are already trying to get in. A pane of light appears over the opening: not enough to protect them for more than a minute, but hopefully enough to provide temporary reprieve. Her other hand rises to her neck, her palm quickly growing slick with blood as she presses it on her wound.
Then she's on the ground covered in gourds, panickedly pulling at the vines that cover her mouth. She manages to tear through them and take a deep breath - just in time for Ronin to kick a shower of guts and seeds into her throat, causing the Angel to sputter and cough. It's chaos, and even if she had the presence of mind to scold Ronin for his slaughter she would not, because now, yes, they've gone too damn far.
A ferocious growl tears from between her fangs as Amalia rises to her knees, yanking a particularly aggressive spaghetti squash off a bleeding wound from her neck and throwing it into a corner. "Vi's beard!" she curses around another seed, snarling as she throws a hand to the window where more gourds are already trying to get in. A pane of light appears over the opening: not enough to protect them for more than a minute, but hopefully enough to provide temporary reprieve. Her other hand rises to her neck, her palm quickly growing slick with blood as she presses it on her wound.
Amalia
