AMALIA
She wants the silence but fears the solitude
She wants to be alone and together with you
Born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow"What would we have to do?" Unlike Jigano, there is no question in her mind, no moment to reflect on why they were lost, and the inevitable fact that Ludo must have already attempted to bring them back. Her expression is fierce in the flickering light, fervent and hopeful, alive with purpose. If there is a way...
Ludo's porcelain mask does not smile, but Amalia feels it nonetheless. Tear-streaked cheeks bloom with emotion, the smile unwavering as she replays the interaction, her grandmother's words. A part of her is loathe to leave - she wants to remain in this place of peace and light, to abandon her worries and let herself pursue the lanterns, as so many spirits have done... as she nearly did. She wants to see her mother, her grandmother, to be safe and free.
But she knows she is not ready. She has not done enough, learned enough, brought enough into the world. There is more the pious girl can give- and so, reluctantly, she turns away, her dark eyes misty with tears.
"Good night, Ludo. Thank you for keeping her - them - safe."
Nodding again, the girl turns toward Jigano, reaching out to take her pale-haired friend's hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He is an anchor to the living, a compass in the night: and if he will continue to walk beside her, she thinks, she can continue to pursue that light, to keep being better despite her fears.
Ludo's porcelain mask does not smile, but Amalia feels it nonetheless. Tear-streaked cheeks bloom with emotion, the smile unwavering as she replays the interaction, her grandmother's words. A part of her is loathe to leave - she wants to remain in this place of peace and light, to abandon her worries and let herself pursue the lanterns, as so many spirits have done... as she nearly did. She wants to see her mother, her grandmother, to be safe and free.
But she knows she is not ready. She has not done enough, learned enough, brought enough into the world. There is more the pious girl can give- and so, reluctantly, she turns away, her dark eyes misty with tears.
"Good night, Ludo. Thank you for keeping her - them - safe."
Nodding again, the girl turns toward Jigano, reaching out to take her pale-haired friend's hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He is an anchor to the living, a compass in the night: and if he will continue to walk beside her, she thinks, she can continue to pursue that light, to keep being better despite her fears.
