In Pursuit

It is a traditional pilgrimage for the lonely girl: after Long Night concludes and the bakery is cleaned, she heads to the Atheneum  to tend to the books. Her dearest friends for many years, the tomes have been touched by other fingers of late, and Amalia feels a twinge of jealousy as she notes the slightly open door, the scuffle of footprints in the dusty floor. It is unreasonable, irrational, but she cannot resist: there have been so many interlopers of late, so many strangers leaving scoff marks on her home. A strange year indeed, weird and wonderful, with near death and new life, the arrival of legends and conversations with gods. Amalia's head spins when she tries to recount it all. The world has changed with the turn of the sun, and her grandmother is not there to see. Slender fingers trace the skeletons of books, curling contentedly around old spines as she begins to right the ruins. On soft feet the girl drifts, at ease in the familiarity of these hallowed halls. She knows the layout as though it were her home, and dances between towering stacks, carefully avoiding the strangers within, disdainful of them, the interlopers, the strange. The quiet of solitude is a welcome respite from the bustle of the Rathskeller, the oppression of the Infirmary. She misses the days when this was hers, her kingdom, her haven, her only companions parchment and ghosts. The influx of Outlanders has changed her dreams: at times, Amalia wishes to wake up back in the comfortable disquiet of before. One voice among many catches her ear; Amalia pauses in pursuit to listen, frozen for a moment between nostalgia and interest. She has taken pains to mask her presence, yet suddenly a desire to be seen flares within her breast. Carefully, cautiously, she rounds a corner and sees them, slender forms near silhouettes in the shafts a dusty light. Seiji and Jigano stand within the aisle, and Amalia can neither prevent nor explain the smile which blooms across her face at the sight of these men. Moments ago trapped in her mind, the young baker feels a sudden need to be seen, be heard, be wanted by these strangers who had treated her as friend. It is a desire tempered by fear, the loathsome terror of rejection ever present in her soul: and so for a moment she hovers nearby, torn between two impulses, watching and wondering and waiting in silence for some sign of the path she must choose to take. a m a l i a I've been watching your kindness keep A lonely company - Look at the fire and think of me