#man i really should come up with a fic tag or smth. steel text is usuable for now tho

[decarabiandivorce]

According to the genshin wiki, amos’s name translates to “burden” (or at least the hebrew version of the name). Any thoughts on the implications of this?

:)

oh i have thought about that a normal amount. Usually, I love tying it into my backstory of her c: An archer needs to be strong and I imagine her taking care of her community a lot. It was her burden to carry, now that she was an archer without prey. It didn't feel right to not do anything. It could never feel right. In her heart, she was an archer waiting to strike- but stagnation for too long was something she could never fully accept. She has carried many things in her lifetime, from secrets to fears.

A burden is a responsibility that one can not abandon; a pressure from external and/ or internal matters. Physical and metaphorical I do think that Amos acts from the heart. She is so full of love that it's the only thing that could really damage her. She will take on the world for the people she cares about. (And the realization of who she really should be taking care of happens much too late)

It's one of the reasons she fell for Deca. A person that could carry her burdens for her. But life without improvement was a different sort of stagnation. To eternally dream causes muscles to weaken and minds to soften. Surrounded by a sea of grey, were her eyes as sharp as they were before?

Ough this is giving me inspiration to write more of Amos's thought process when it comes to her relationships with people :p I wonder what I should nickname this one, either Violetgrass (Bluebells by another name) or Endymionis somnum dormire

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Amos was a strong person. She hunted in the woods beyond the city, brining back meat to share with her friends and family. She did not ask for much. She did not have much. Amos the hunter was her name. Her last name? She never cared for it. Being a hunter was nice. Staying still for the perfect shot. Just for her patience to be rewarded in one quick swish.

Her parents taught her the way of the bow. They urged her to put it down as well. To settle with someone that could take care of her. One day her bones will tire and her wrists wouldn't be able to withstand the arduous tasks.

Amos was strong. She cared for her parents til their final breaths. She cleaned the now empty house by herself. She had many friends she loved to help. Any burder they had, she could take on.

She taught the children of her friends how to be an archer. She did her deliveries and as the rumors of war broke out she didn't worry. It was a matter between gods.

Then the winds began to storm and her dreams of green were no more. Her tasks were no more. Still those she helped so long ago took care of her.

She felt like a burden. A hunter without her prey. All she could do was sit by the armourys of old and keep up the upkeep. The other hunters and soilders have already gone home. No one to inspect at the city gates nor a chance to take their own somewhere else. The greenhouses at least gained new members.

Despite her many years of waiting, she felt restless. There must be something she could do! Much like a maid knight in the future, at a simple call she would be there in a second. "Amos, could you please help with this?" "Amos could you please help with that?" She loved to help. The belt on her side was no longer filled with arrows, only lists and letters.

Like the mint plants that weave through the concrete cracks, she survives. She always had.

Day and night held no meaning to her. Task after task. She could do it all. She could do anything.

Her face grimaces as she notes the bottom of her shoes needing to be glued back in. Her boots were getting old and she would need the support of a clan to purchase a new pair. Tailor Skyle still owed her that favor, she could ask her later.

Walking past the kids playing in the streets, she smiled. They waved at her before going back to play their game. They had made a show out of the information coming from the few outsiders. Words about the Wolf King's newest strategy or rumors of how bad this war across the world has been. The stone gate's leylines protected them from the wrath of geo, but the anemo in the air had to have a victor.

The tower in the center of the town was the only place safe from the storm. Its sturdy walls stayed quiet. Season by season the number of guards lessened as the few who found themselves of use to their king wished to conserve their coin.

The tailor greets her, holding the hand of her wife Riza. The baker had made her beloved a container of soup for lunch and had dropped by to see her. Amos smiled as the trio talked and Skyle did calculations.

"Red looks good on you," She could hear her friend mutter to her wife.

"Everything looks good on me." Riza smiled back. Her hand playing with the edges of a napkin. She was wearing a crimson bracelet on her hand. "Hey Amos, you like it? It's our anniversary present to each other."

The tailor sighed, "I can't believe Mr. Whisker would betray me like that. How dare a fluffy face like his tear my bracelet to shreds the moment I place mine down. Our perfect anniversary ruined by that adorable bastard. It's going to take so long to remake the pattern."

As she looked closely, she could see the slightest pattern of flowers. Roses if she remembered correctly.

Riza bent her arm to give Amos a closer look, "It's based on a tale from my side of the family. My father was eager to share the tale of the red string with his future daughter-in-law." She kissed her wife and Amos looked away.

Her eyes wandered as the two began to talk. She knew the guy they were telling her about, how he would gift her parchments and books from the lands south for the holidays. He was a nice guy, but she blanked on his name at the moment. Her eyes rested on the harp in the corner of the shop. She had one of those big ones back at home, but it was way dustier than this one. The feeling of string in her hands that needed to be plucked at the right moment... Yet before she could say anything, her friend was finished.

She thanked them and embraced the storm outside. The kids were gone, perhaps off to their homes for lessons or mealtime. Besides the regular rumble that surrounded the city, it was quiet. Trees and flags rustled like instruments and she made her way back to where she was staying.

Tomorrow was the same. So was the day after that. And the day after that.

Of course, there were new developments. The person that used to take care of horses fell in love with the butcher's son. One of the head clan's harpists was arrested for murdering her rival. She was invited to the wedding of one of the kids she used to carry on her shoulders. Still, she was.

She was.

Content.

Her eyes and body tired as she put on her best clothes. It was a humble affair, a family friend of the groom was one of the Lawrence and allowed them to use their home as the venue. Everyone was in pairs. Some people even more.

She wore a violetgrass in her hair, one of the rarer plants in the greenhouses' glebes. It costed her a pretty coin, but she couldn't help but splurge.

The event was nice. The couple spoke their vows and their kin held a toast to their happiness. Til death will they part.

She smiled. She laughed. She was so proud of her friend.

Someone tossed something into the air, and on instinct she caught it.

Roses so red and Celcilias so white. They smelled fresh, but the bouquet felt heavy in their hands. Crimson splashed against the bone-white and faded grass. Yet there are cheers around her. Smiles and jokes. "Oh, when is the wedding for Ms. Amos?" "It's a sign for you to settle down Amos dear!" "Want me to make a dress for you like I did them?"

She smiles. She laughs. She steps aside. "Come on you guys! It's their wedding! We should tease them more instead!". The violetgrass feels heavy on her head.

The beginning of the end starts with such good intentions.

"Ms. Amos!" one of the children squeaks. She had just finished fixing a post one of the animals knocked over before she felt the small hands of her neighbor's daughter on her dress. "Don't tell Lance but I wanna marry him when I grow up!"

"Is that so?" Amos pats her on the head. "What about that Charles boy that likes you? Or Amelia?"

Her face scrunches, "They are so borrring. And Amelia hasn't returned my ribbon yet! Lance is so cool! He can use a catalyst!" she pulls on the hem as the kid jumps up and down. "When are you getting married?"

"I don't plan on it." is her usual answer.

"That sounds lonely." was the usual reply.

Amos smiled, "I won't be lonely. I have you guys!"

Her neighbor's child frowned at her. At least this one was honest about their thoughts. "You sure? Cause I think that would be sucky."

The pale-haired lady lowered her eyes, "It's time for dinner. I think I saw your father get fowl today at the market. You should get going."

"Okay, Ms. Amos! Can I be flower-girl at your wedding?"

"Bye!" Amos says back.

She closes her eyes. The party a couple weeks ago was nice. Everyone was enjoying themselves and reminiscing on old times was lovely. There was another invite in her mail. An engagement announcement right next to it. The Bakers down the street were having their 2nd child. The Smiths were having triplets.

She grits her teeth as she makes her way back into her empty house. The dust was getting worse. She would need all day tomorrow to tidy the place up.

Yet instead, she chooses to fall face-first onto her bed. The blankets were in the same position they were when she woke up. The wood underneath her creaked as she squirmed. It would be nice to have someone in her arms. Have someone hold her. Have someone greet her when she comes home. It would be nice to have someone to share her burdens with. To greet with a hug. To whisper the vows to.

Yet the only one in her bed was herself. She was never an imaginative person, only able to build upon memories. What would it even be like? How would it even work? How do you even meet someone like that? How do you know this is the person you would devote yourself to? How would you know you were attracted to them? Was it like that Red String her friend told her about, a moth drawn to a flame?

She knew what a pretty person was! She had eyes! Yet. It was always surface-level. She could never imagine sharing a life with that pretty boy at the southern gate. Nor the scribe who doodles hearts on her receipts. She didn't know them. She felt no connection to them. That's what attraction was... right? A connection?

She gripped her pillow tightly.

She needed rest for tomorrow. She could think about this another time.

.

The storm was quiet today. It ebbed with her lord's mood, but today seemed different. Perhaps she had been imagining things. Sap from dying flowers needed to be crafted into glue. The arrows she'll never use again deserve their tail feathers.

Washing her hands, she tidied the armory's workspace. Clearing away the stuff on the desks was her first task- she wouldn't want the violetgrass's poison to stain.

The soft chime from the door was barely audible. Turning around, Amos noted the person a couple steps away from her had green eyes. No pigment could describe the hue, only barely comparable to the crystalflies or perhaps seelies. A cape on his right shoulder and an even longer cape on his back. Stormy grey hair and skin sickly pale.

Who the heck was this guy? He didn't have the features of any of the townspeople. Was he one of the wealthier people that lived in the tower? Even then she would have heard rumors of such a person. There were only a handful of people with silver hair and she was acquainted with all of them.

A foreigner would make sense, but only if he had arrived before the storm. The gold accents on his pauldrons and clothing seemed flawless- and he did not look like the man who knew about metal upkeep. Wait. Then why was he here in an armory?

"Good day." She greeted as calm as she could be. She was not worried. Surrounded by her old companions, she had spent hours wielding and testing each one of them. Sure she may not be the best at a claymore or a simple short sword, but any one of them would do in a battle.

"Hello," His voice was calm.

"Looking for something?" She asked. He placed his gloved hand on his side, his movements almost like that of a marionette.

"No."

"...Well okay then?" Amos tilted her head. His voice had an accent? That odd way of speaking the Mason family had, with some breathiness to the vowels. Time flowed once more as she tried to concentrate on her work, but this guy was still there. She kept looking back, like they were playing a game of Ochs am Berg.

"So stranger what's your name?" she asked, but got no reply. "... I see. A quiet one, are ya?" The arrows were done, time to clean up and then move to the shields.

"Yes. I am a quiet person." came the short response.

Socially it would be a good move to laugh it off, perhaps add some lip service, but this guy was giving her nothing to go off on. Maybe he did want to just sit and watch, a cat laying on a windowsill. Perhaps she was standing in his way. Or worse: it meant nothing at all.

"Cool." She muttered.

Somehow this became a habit. The two of them, never really introducing themselves to the other, would spend a portion of the afternoon in the armory together. Occasionally, the green-eyed man would comment on the abandoned armors and weapons. The unsaid question of why she continued to do this task on his lips. There was no need for anyone to fight. There were no fights. Everything was at peace. So why was she standing in a room ment for battle.

She never answered him. How could she put into words that this was her choice. Her old friends. Relics from the times she would have hunting partners side by side. Artifacts of campsites and friendships. It was illogical.

Yet, the silence was nice. The silence could make one pretend the other understood the other.

One day, he handed her a cloak that matched the one he wore. "It's cold." He spoke, his voice soft and gentle. As she placed it around her shoulders, she could not help but smile at its warmth. So light yet so strong. Not a single stitch was loose and her only complaint would be how the accents shimmered in the light. Still, she had hung up her bow- so stealth need not be an option.

Her mistake.

"Oh, is this a courting gift?" Came the questions. "Are you finally settling down?" they asked. "Who's the lucky person?"

She takes the cloak off.

But he looks at her with such concern. She does enjoy his company, whatever his name is. She likes talking to him. Sometimes she finds things throughout her day that makes her want to show him it.

She wonders what it would be like to meet outside the armory. She feels like she wants to impress him, to take him out of the city and show off her sick moves in action. She dreams of them patrolling the area together, maybe even becoming neighbors.

The cloak is in her hands now. It's so soft. Would his hand be this soft? Would his chest? She never thought of it before, but she wants to run her fingers through his hair. She wants to hold him and laugh with him. To see that sunny smile peak through his clouds.

Yet, she tells herself. They are barely friends. She barely knows his name. His story is his to tell, and while she had confessed the circumstances of her life... he has always been her green-eyed mystery.

It's so heavy, all of it. The mutterings. The attention. This dance was tiring. She wants to rest. To ignore the questions and stop acting happy. Amos just wants to be Amos. It's not like she can be Amos the archer. She.

She.

She hates this. Can't they all just get off her back! Go away! What she is up to is none of their business!

They are just concerned about you, her mind whispers. Her heart aches. She knows they just want what they think is best for her. That they belive that she will be lonely for the rest of her life. That's absurd! She has them! Do... do they not consider themselves as valuable to her as they are?

The rustle of the storm hums around her. Like a lullaby, she can feel it drowning out her thoughts. Her friend had been giving her more violetgrass once he learned they were of her favorite color. Purple. Such a lovely hue. Imports of those dyes cost a pretty coin, but these flowers lived near the stone gate. Useful towards pests and can even be made into some medicines. "Should you ever turn one inside out, you would win your true love!" A common saying among the hunters.

Win your true love. What a joke. If love was a game, she did not want to play. Was she supposed to bring an inverted flower wherever she went? Or was the game set by the time the contested meets their prize.

It was bad luck to bring this bouquet into her house. The neighbors will talk. And so will the neighbor's neighbors. But that's all they ever do. Talk talk nag nag. It's just some flowers! It's just a gift!

"Decarabian give me strength," She muttered. Not one to be a nun, she only knew the basics for events. "I do like the guy. But. I don't even know him. It would be so much simpler to learn about him. I could tell the Masons or the Peggs that his family doesn't like me! I would be free from their questions."

But what if she does like him. That this yearning to watch stars with him was what they would call love. That the urge to sit around and do nothing- to be by his side and vice versa... what if that was love.

Why did she feel so lonely after making this connection? Why does she want this? Why does she want to give into the pressure and sink into his arms? Have that heavy weight upon her heart to go away once and for all.

Despite her many years of being alone, she felt restless. Was this fear, love? Was the desperation to have someone to talk to when she came home, love? Was the yearning for him to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks, love?

She felt like a burden. An archer without her bow.

Amos closed her eyes and pulled the cloak close. It still smelled of him. If there was anyone she would be safe sharing space with... she guessed he was okay.