[SE] sky full of song

Amalia I took the stars from my eyes, I made a map He leans toward her and she is aware of his weight, the way it shifts beside her, his orbit edging closer to hers. She notices it the same way she might notice the sun emerging from clouds, a warmth spreading across her skin, the breeze of his breath almost tangible, the scent of him almost on her senses. Amalia's eyes do not leave their work, to not rise to search his face, his eyes, to see the effect of her onslaught on his beard. Deftly her fingers continue to weave, though they tremble slightly with the beat of her heart; but she ascribes this to exhaustion, the strain of focus. It certainly has nothing to do with him. He speaks again, a response to her proposal, rising to the challenge she has laid. "We don't have to do it, if you're afraid." Taunting, teasing- when did she get to be so bold, audaciously grasping, pushing and coaxing and carousing and inviting trouble to take her by the hand, carry her through the threshold and into the mischievous dark? She looks sidelong at Deimos, her long lashes a veil under which dark eyes sparkle with barely concealed mirth. Innocent, innocuous, her voice is a lilting thing, deep and sly and masking a poorly concealed smirk. She shrugs her delicate shoulders, looking back at the lush crown blooming in her lap. "I'll accept your concession. There's no shame in surrender." But ah, he rises- he always does, always has, a towering wave of hidden whimsy wrapped in the melting glacial shield. Again the slicing stare falls on her, a well of ice she might fall into, cold pools on a summer day, water in a drought. Show me, he demands, and it is all she can do not to shiver. She wants to show him everything, the way he has shown her. The passion inside her, the hopes and dreams, the snippets and memory of a vibrant youth: she wants to paint them on a tapestry, to take him through the wildflower meadow of her heart. He is a lighthouse, and he has showed her how to step back into the sun. She wants to show him how to stay there. If only she knew how. "Hold on." Swiftly she finishes her creation, tying off the braided band and brandishing it before him. Dense with flowers, the crown is a symphony of colors, a sweet bouquet of scents and smiles. What it lacks in pure skill it makes up for in heart, and the beaming pride on her angular face as she displays her work. But it is quite skillful in its craftsmanship, if the girl may say so herself. Turning suddenly toward Deimos, Amalia lets her left hand fall near his as she extends her right, a serious action for an unserious proposition. "You accept, then?" she asks, glittering laughter in her voice, her eyes, nose crinkling distinctively as she tries to maintain some semblance of dignity upon her face. "Ten points to dance behind someone for ten seconds. Lose five points if you're caught. Winner will be crowned Fiat Lux King," She waves the beautiful flower crown. "Loser has to-" serve them, they would wager as children, but that feels dangerous now, a little too far, too likely to be misconstrued, rejected. "-fulfill one boon." Maybe it's still close to danger, but the girl feels a like tempting fate, stoking the fire of him and seeing how close she can get before she burns. And then the girl springs up to stand, pulling him up and back into the fray, his hand in hers like an anchor, a life boat, a shield against the loneliness which he has so cunningly chased away. And I knew that somehow I could find my way back