[SE] sky full of song

Amalia I took the stars from my eyes, I made a map How long has it been since she acted so foolish, gowned the garb of childish fancy and let herself succumb to her most juvenile urges? How long since she laughed with such licentiousness, paid so little heed or mind to the thoughts and judgments of those around? There used to be a girl like this, a bairn named Amalia whose intents were riddled with well-meant mischief, whose shoulders were free of the weight of the world. Oh, she has always been anxious, quiet, withdrawn; but there is another side to the Loreseeker, a vibrant and vivacious penumbra around the eclipsed segments of her heart. She has not seen that person in years. And now, in the span of a morning (but it was longer than that, really, began that day in the library when he first made her realize she was not alone) he has dug up that girl, exposed her and her carefree jovility, led her back to the sun. Deimos' glee is all the windfall she needs, the buzz of success a pleasant bonus. It is all she can do to maintain her composure long enough to prevail, and as soon as he raises the signal of victory the girl falls apart. Her grin is an electric thing, wide enough to split her face, utter rapture written in her face, though whether the pleasure is due more to her victory or his raucous enjoyment is difficult to parse. They exchange a long, lingering look, conspiratorial and challenging, before Amalia is distracted away. Her victim spins in drunken confusion, but it is too late for the girl to be caught, and she dons a serious and severe facade as she nods to him, greeting with a restrained "Happy Fiat Lux, sir," before entirely succumbing to her mirth, laughing and turning her eyes back to him. But when she looks up Deimos is gone from his place, vanished from her sight. Mirth is cut short, laughter fading, replaced by a sudden and gnawing fear, worse now that she has finally banished it. The floor gives way beneath the girl; she feels her stomach collapse and knot, the weight of her sudden loss and loneliness heavier than she could ever anticipate. The sun has passed behind the clouds; at once she realizes she is cold. Has she misread? Is he weary at last, pushed to the edge by her childish antics, ready to go find more mature pursuits with wiser companions, prettier wittier friends? No, he can't be- And then she sees him, and the sun emerges once again, and the pounding of her heart is thunder in her ears, the relief that fills her a torrent, frightening in its intensity, its heat. She tries to hide it, but her face is a book, an open novel of emotion and sentiment threatening to spill secrets she does not know she keeps. She resists the urge to wave, to call, to rush to him and reassure herself that he is there, he is not leaving, he is---- Amalia meets his eyes and grins, something shuttered in her face, an attempt at something like composure. The man looks stoic, a return to the glacial presence of old, and for a moment fear rises in her again. Perhaps he was leaving, perhaps he is done, perhaps she has gone too far in pushing him and has succeeded at last in pushing him away, driving him to a breaking point and leaving him looking for escape-- But then Deimos begins to dance, and it is the greatest thing she has ever seen. Disbelief, at first, amazement- and then a bedlam of cackling escapes the girl, entirely unrestrained, uproarious laughter pealing from her lips as she watches him twist and squirm. It is all she can do to keep from falling, collapsing on the earth in amazement and glee as the great behemoth wiggles his arm and kicks his legs, stoic as a stone. Strangers turn to stare, stunned at Amalia- including the couple, who offer a glare before turning their attention back to eating each others faces, wholly ignorant to the masterpiece unfolding inches away. Tears fall from onyx eyes, unbidden and unrestrained; crowing, crying, the girl keeps count, raising a shaking hand at ten before giving in and doubling over, the laughter still fading on her lips. It is a solid series of seconds before she regains her composure, and even then one glance at Deimos sends her into hilarity once again. Breathless, wheezing, Amalia at last pulls herself upright, though she cannot suppress the giggles which still emerge in fits and starts. Dramatically she raises a hand to her face, miming the donning of a serious expression, mirth still cracking at her eyes. She does not look at Deimos - cannot - instead seeking out her next target. Finding an elderly woman nearby, the slender baker slips behind her, raising her hands to begin to dance. But then she makes the mistake of looking at him again, and dissolves once more into strangled chortling, causing the woman to spin around and inquire worriedly as to her well-being. Offering a half-assed excuse the girl hurries away, flitting back to Deimos and falling in beside him, the urge to bury her fire-red face in his chest almost impossible to resist. She settles, instead, for staring up at him, a mask of mock indignation dancing across her face. "I demand a re-do," Amalia declares, hands on her hips, chin raised in defiance. "You cheated by making me laugh so hard." Then the facade breaks, and she crumbles again, mirth and merriment overtaking any semblance of seriousness she may have tried to don. And I knew that somehow I could find my way back