Work Text:
She could feel Amalia staring at her. Penance couldn’t bring herself to look back.
“A friend is someone you trust to trust you back.” Maladie’s voice echoed through her head. The words reaching out and digging into Amalia like a twisted version of Mary's song. “I guess she didn’t trust you back.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Amalia asked, her voice firm, professional, the one she used with other people, never Penance.
“I was afraid you would kill them,” Penance said, fiddling with one of her inventions, pretending all of her focus wasn’t on the woman she trusted more than anyone. “I was afraid I would let you,” she whispered. The confession filled the air, swirling around her neck squeezing as tight as a noose. She should know.
Amalia softened. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Penance knew her. A slight shift to her heels, less prepared for an attack, shoulders settling with a barely detectable breath, the sharp edge of Amalia’s presence dulled.
Penance glanced up, staring at Amalia’s cheek still unable to meet her eye. “I know the difference. Even now, after…” She looked back at her gadget. “I know what’s right… and I know what’s wrong.” She tossed her invention on the table, a violence she never had to acknowledge before coursing through her veins. Was this what Amalia felt all the time? The thunder that never was? “I’m afraid because for once… I want what’s wrong.” Penance closed her eyes, pressing her hands against her workbench hoping it would stabilize the foreign energy rushing through her. Its potential was terrifying. “Does that make me a devil?”
“It makes you human,” Amalia answered, her voice calming Penance more than the workbench.
Penance finally met her eye.
“Is there a difference?”