A M A L I A
There is only so much sulking one girl can do in a day. So her grandmother used to say, the corners of her eyes crinkling into crow's feet as she teased her pensive granddaughter. Amalia would frown, stick out her tongue, or simply turn away in a huff, childishly stubborn, determined to hold tight to her slights and wounds. But sooner or later the older woman always won out. Infinitely patient, her grandmother could out-wait the Spire, or so her mother used to say. Eventually their battle of wills would end, and Amalia would unwrap from her anxious mind, chagrined or cheerful as the case may be, but always coming back to that warmth. These were the battles she was happy to lose, the ones she wishes she could still fight.
It was easier, when she did not have to fight herself.
Today she is fortunate in company and cheerfulness, faces old and new. The women who help behind the stall chide and chirp and bully and beguile, easing the girl out of her shell and helping to decorate the makeshift shop. Maybe it is not so bad after all- she has a good deal of bread, at least, and banners enough to draw in customers, though perhaps not as many as once were. But it is Devas Bakery's first appearance in years, and she cannot expect all to be as it was. And there is only so much sulking one girl can do in a day.
And so, over time, with the appearance of friends and the smiles of strangers, Amalia begins to soften, some of the fluttering anxiety stilling at last. By the time Deimos appears she is nearly ready to step away, needled and bullied and coaxed and ordered in turn by the two mother hens who would rather gossip in the shade than dance among the youth.
Through the raincloud of doubt a sunlit smile breaks, shy and pleased by his appearance, a glowing echo of his own mischievous grin. "Happy Fiat Lux, Deimos," the girl greets quietly, color creeping into her cheeks as she regards her friend. "Have you been enjoying the festival?"
He gestures to a loaf bearing a sun, but before the girl can quote a price one of the older women appears, a twinkle in her eye. "All you can eat is free, my lad, so long as you can get this one to dance!"
And before she has a chance to protest Amalia finds herself pushed in front of the stall, staring up at Deimos though surprised onyx eyes, a panicked blush staining her cheeks and neck wine red.
