en natt så kall och månen den var klar

"Really..." And in some ways, he felt like the quiet word, soft as a sigh, was the very embodiment of their relationship: cold, distrustful, distant. Really, his heart echoed, but not with doubt—with finality, certainty, and the deep, stabbing pain which seemed to permeate his very existence. It lay far below, buried beneath layers upon layers of ice and snow, but it was there, a living, pulsing wound, each beat driving the sharp edges a little deeper in. Really, he wanted to say, but it was not his place to say anything at all.

He knew what he knew. It was up to her, whether to believe him or not.

Truth was such a fickle thing, and trust just as flighty. His jaws pressed together, biting down, swallowing everything that threatened to bubble up again; tears, explanations, meaningless words, screams and shrieks. Was this it, the moment everything hinged upon? This wait, stretching in the silence between them?

What went through her head? And her heart? What did she want from him? He knew what he wanted: he wanted.. her, his daughter, to mend everything he'd broken and somehow patch their relationship up, for them to become what they should've been all along... He wanted her trust, and to trust her, and for things not to be so cold between them—he wanted to be a part of her life, even if she was grown now and would have her own adventures to go on... But what did she want? She didn't need him. Maybe she had, once, when she was young, but now? Did she even want him in her life? If she asked him to leave, and never come to her again, could he do it? Should he do it? Would he, if she asked him with all the right reasons?

She seemed so lonesome, so desolate, painted pale and cold and hard in the sterling light, a delicate porcelain doll someone had dressed up in armor. He was fighting so hard to not run away from this battle, so if she bade him, would he be capable of fleeing?

No, he thought, I will not run, not even if she asks me.

Because he was done running from this.

And suddenly she was moving, her head turning from the stars and onto him. Pitifully, like a kicked dog still longing for the affection of its master, his black-rimmed ears flicked forward, every sense sharpening. "For real?" The doubt still discolored her voice, but whatever he might've thought to say in response to that was forever lost as she went on to say, "Then why did you replace me?", and Mauja felt the whole thing whirl into a whole new perspective. Replace? With Tamlin..? How could he ever replace her?

"I could never replace you," he began, a faint hurt blossoming beneath the stillness of his voice. Because it did hurt, to think that it was what she thought—that it was what she'd thought all these years.

That he'd sought to replace her. That.. that... his mind went to the owls, and the gull. Perhaps, it was something you had to experience, in order to understand.. that love is infinite, and when the need arose, you simply found more love in your heart.

And never any less.

"I would never want to," he went on, still quiet, his pale eyes searching for hers. At a glance, there was so very little of Psyche in her... "Is that.. what you've thought all these years?"

[ Raven distracted me with this towards the end of the post xDDD @[Snö]. ]

Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål