Amalia
the archangel
"There's a demigoddess named Mildew who lives in the Wilds. She might be a good place to start." Arialla's ardent enthusiasm is infectious, inspiring Amalia to nod along, her own voice growing stronger. This is a different version of the young priestess than what the Angel had met before, and after the tittering reluctance of so many others, it feels good to speak to someone who shares her conviction for their cause.
The water behind them is come to a boil; the Angel turns to fetch the kettle, bringing it back to the countertop. "If you decide to go, I can help you get out there, and pick you up when you're done." The water falls over tightly curled tea leaves, sending them blooming into aromatic inky black. "That is - if you decide to go. There's also plenty to be done here. And there's always the Order..." The distaste in her voice is obvious, bitterness staining her alto tone.
The water behind them is come to a boil; the Angel turns to fetch the kettle, bringing it back to the countertop. "If you decide to go, I can help you get out there, and pick you up when you're done." The water falls over tightly curled tea leaves, sending them blooming into aromatic inky black. "That is - if you decide to go. There's also plenty to be done here. And there's always the Order..." The distaste in her voice is obvious, bitterness staining her alto tone.
she is calm in the storm
and anxious in the quiet
and anxious in the quiet
