Her head wound had healed, but it had not. The headaches still plagued her. She worked through them now because there was no other option, because taking the time to rest would have meant idleness, and this was something Reverie could never tolerate. She was not an idle creature. She had always been a flame.

And now she was whittled down to frayed ends and thin threads snapping; exhausted, still not fully healed and regressing in some ways now that she had taken up full activity again. It was too soon and she knew that. Reverie just couldn't stand to be alone with her thoughts. So she kept herself busy, kept herself away from dangerous daydreams like what might happen if she hid herself away somewhere and simply went to sleep —

She found that she was crying again. She didn't know what to do, and so she made a decision she'd never made before; one she would later condemn as a mistake, a horrible selfish mistake. She looked for @Blossom.

Blossom had been sheltered her whole life.

From infanthood, to adolescence, to now, where she was a juvenile rapidly approaching her first year of life. In that time, she was coddled, perhaps, given a point of pride as the daughter of two attentive parents. Blossom had not seen their tension, had not seen their fights, none of it. Her momma had loved her dad, she was sure, but she loved Boone more. That was fine. The world was a kind place, she had been so sure.

Her rose colored glasses had been taken from their perch on her nose and smashed to bits with the introduction of Mae, of the stranger who hurt her momma. The world had turned its cruel eye onto the young woman, and ruthlessly ground her face into its chaotic complexities. And for once in her life, Blossom began to dread the future instead of looking forward to it.

She lay beneath a willow, looking through a gap in its branches at the outside. The cruelty that was there. Her already thin-boned frame was addled with tangles in her curls, making her look ghostly laying there. Like Ophelia, drowning.

Momma? She asked the approaching footsteps, finding nothing in her able to make her raise her head.

Why do people have to hurt?

The moment she laid eyes on Blossom, her own sorrow was forgotten. A little gasp slipped from her and she went to her daughter thoughtlessly, curling around her, starting to groom the tangles from her beautiful golden fur. Why do people have to hurt? Words she'd never wanted to hear from her daughter.

But she'd asked herself this so many times. Even the beauty she'd found in her life often burned like fire; even this new beginning, even now. Reverie still couldn't forget that hurtful morning with Boone. The way he'd dismissed her, the way he'd broken the first promise she'd ever asked of him. She loved him but he'd set a precedent then, the same precedent set by Lestan so many months ago: when he was upset with her it meant he would break his promises, it meant that her comfort was secondary, it meant that her trust mattered less than whether she did what he wanted. And that hurt. Why did it have to hurt?

It's - it's just a part of - life. A part of loving people, Reverie explained gently, faltering. It sounded like a flimsy excuse even to her. Sometimes - bad things happen. And it hurts because you care. But caring is - it's how we make it hurt a little less for the people we love. It's how we find happiness again.

She kissed the top of Blossom's head gently. The hurt doesn't last forever. It fades with time. I promise.