Panther Park white winter hymnal

omg why did we ever plan to do this i'm dying inside

Oxsana?At first, the strange word barely registered with Olive as the name of Dakarai's departed love of times past. Her mind was fraying, unraveling, trying hard to comprehend what was in front of her. She blinked at him without understanding his words; without understanding any of it. He tried to communicate but Olive resisted mentally, afraid of what other malaise his words would unearth. Milky paws, as small as pencil points, smothered her eyes and ear to shield herself from the fraudulence that accosted her every sense. The lamb rocked her chin on the ground and covered her woeful visage and cared nothing for how she looked or presented herself, for what was presentation in the face of the worst dread she had ever known?

For a moment the world was dark and Dakarai's deep voice faded from her perception and all was right. They were on the Sunspire, cavorting and laughing and singing with one another. Would he ever remember such magic? Would they ever be able to rebuild the love that flowed so uninhibited between them?  With these questions in mind, Olive undercovered her eyes and finally responded to him. "Oxsana is... fine. Your children are fine..." she was soft spoken, unsure what goal she was trying to attain with this fabrication. She remembered, now. Remembered how Oxsana had been murdered alongside their Children. It was a horror akin to the once she witnessed now... but that was a sadness for another time. Not now. He would understand later. 

The stranger was kind enough. He agreed to let to stay, to let her "heal" his wounds [though, at the time, the function of all her healing knowledge would be transfixed on recreating and rebuilding his memory]. But there was something in his voice which needled at her wounded psyche -- it was pity. Her king pitied her. And who wouldn't? She was the picture of anguish, with her mouth held agape, periodot eyes rolling, her voice cracking and breaking under the pressure of her crumbling past, present and future. But Dakarai was the one who never pitied her. He had seen the best of her, brought out the best, deserved the best. He agreed to stay but not out of love for her, but love for his fallen family. This would not do at all. This type of relationship would never do. 

"You...you don't remember me, my love?" the clamant women resorted to begging again. In her mind, she was pleading with god and using Dakarai as her vessel. She was clearly crying, her words twisting around her sobs and uncontrollable heaves. The wetness of her cheeks had now begun to seep down the fur of her neck and even to her chest, so plentiful were her tears. "Anthousai? You don't remember? ...Your perfect embodiment of peace. I'm here. I'm here. Remember me, please. Remember." More distraught than ever before, she threw herself into a forced embrace [whether he was to it receptive or not]. She needed his touch.

"My king, I'm h-here. I love you."