thinking about amalia’s first time out of azha, after she had lost her best friend and the only person who had been left who knew her before she was queen. how she set aside her crown and her pretty dresses and strapped on her father’s sword, always so heavy in her grasp and, garbed in red, set off to help the people on the northern continent. how slaying monsters might be about protecting the weak yes, but it’s repentance for all the lives she could not save as well. how utterly broken she is, and how she still tries to show the world kindness anyway.
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