Wolf RPG

Everything hurt.
Not physically, not anymore; the newest herbs Bridget had given her were working, at least in that regard. Reverie had not bled nor felt pain since they'd taken effect, but neither did she find her strength. She felt weak, and often stayed in bed; Blossom seemed more than content to play quietly nearby, but there was guilt in it anyway. She deserved more than this — more than a mother who had tried to end her before she'd even truly begun, who could not give her a peaceful or normal life, who still wished sometimes that she had never happened.
Reverie loved her, of course; that had never been in question. But it was a love that felt more like the frantic aftermath of a terrible, hurtful decision, like scrambling desperately to stem the bleeding caused by your own hands. It was a love that felt like it would only ever take from her, and never give a thing in return, and she would never and could never expect that. It wasn't that she resented it, not really. But how could she ever be good enough? How could she ever keep up?
Blossom would only get older. She would have wants, and ideas, and questions. So many questions. Reverie couldn't begin to imagine how she might answer them.
The resentment she did find in her was, mostly, for Lestan. He had hurt her terribly when he'd told her to live for their daughter, and still did not seem to understand. And he knew, he knew that she had spent her whole life rebelling against the idea that she was meant for nothing more than motherhood. Of course she felt guilty for the way this translated into her life now, the way it tainted her love for Blossom — but it was one thing for her to question her own devotion, she felt, and another entirely for him to question it. This hurt would not fade with time, as she thought the others might. This one would linger.
Still she tried to cling to whatever warmth still existed between them, when she had a moment to spare for thoughts of him. If she was honest with herself, it was not often. When Blossom was with her she wore a tired smile and a soft cheerfulness; when she was not, Reverie took the time to cry quietly to herself, and to rest. She did not seek comfort from her husband — or from anyone else, and it was taking a toll. Now she cried each morning as well as at night, and she suspected that Lestan might have noticed by now. She didn't try to hide it anymore.
Blossom had settled for a nap, and Reverie had settled too, but sleep did not come. She was crying again. She was thinking about Bjarna and Gunnar, and how she should never have left Kvarsheim.