Hushed Willows you're my heaven, you're my hell

she was more than positive kavos despised her, for the fact, she trembled in his presence. the boy was as of his father more so than the others, a fact she had come to fear. kierkegaard truly haunted her in the face of the eldest son, and yet, she could not avoid his presence as he slept in the den she did each night. there was simply no ignoring the child, no matter how much she wished he would forget about her existence and move on to grander, fairer things than surviving by her side. kavos's interaction, when at all, was not by choice, she knew. truly. she did not know how to feel about it. 

"k-kavos," strained voice called out to the child, as inviting as she could muster. it was not by choice that the woman found herself at times resenting the children as a whole, she could not help it. truly, she did not want to. she did not want to feel the way she did, and she could not cure it. her feelings were simply, not her own, she concluded and as morally weak as she was, she was unable to do anything about it. for now, she could only attempt. no matter that things would never be right again.