[SE] sky full of song

Amalia I took the stars from my eyes, I made a map For a moment she thinks he might hold her there, but no. She draws away easily enough, her hand reclaiming its place on his shoulder, her heartbeat still pounding (from dancing, she is sure). It is a strange thing, their game, wild and without pause or judgment, a far cry from how she thought she might spend this festival, but not at all unwelcome. She watches his face calculate and contort, new machinations written in his grin; her own is an echo, wily and bold, the bloom of youth and trouble sparkling merrily in her eyes. He declares their next target with pointed purpose, and Amalia only has a moment to catch the off-tune notes before she is spun to face their victims, the drunken revellers wholly unsuspecting of their fast approaching demise. The baker clips one with her hip, sending him reeling in stupid surprise before Deimos crashes into the other, who blubbers and sputters his vehement rebuttal. A flash of guilt snaps through the girl: how would her grandmother respond, seeing her delight in the bullying of others, compete to cause poor strangers harm? But her grandmother is not here, and for once Amalia is happier to turn instead to her mother's ghost. She can imagine Rishima crowing her amusement, the dark woman cackling as festival goers are thrown asunder. In this moment Amalia emulates her mother: reckless, ruthless, unafraid. "I suppose you're claiming those both as yours?" Her voice glitters with merry teasing, a wry curl pulling at her lips. Then they are off again, and the rules are changing as Deimos reaches out to pluck the blossoms from a stranger's head and crown the girl instead. Not the fairest turn, she thinks, eyeing the blooms on his own towering head. But a thought occurs to her, brazen, foolish, but too good to give up- if only he will help. "Lift me!" And without giving him time to consider the girl springs up, both hands reaching over his shoulders to deftly pluck the lilac rings from two unsuspecting passersby. Except they aren't unsuspecting, and as the girl's feet land on the ground she sees them spin to face their assailants, indignant confusion in their faces. "Run!" Amalia cries to her compatriot, laughter pealing from her lips as she slips the treasurer over her left hand and recaptures his around her right. Setting off at a jaunty pace, she turns around to make sure he is following, too gay with the thrill of the chase to notice that their presumed pursuers remain in place, staring after the retreating pair with bemused and unperturbed shrugs. And I knew that somehow I could find my way back