The Heartwood i'm faithless now though we win

She was a monster, to feel this amount of immense satisfaction at the turn his life had taken. Hydra felt smug as he recognized the irony present there. Three had left him, just as he had left she and her sisters—

That satisfaction was shortlived. Wife. Children. His burning love for Lyra that had caused him to leave in the first place, where had that gone? He had wanted to move on, though to know that he had in such a way, so quickly... 

Where were her walls? Her mind lagged as she sought to fix the cracks in their formation. She had thought them more solid... but she had not at all been prepared for this sort of assault—

Hydra wanted to hate the woman, and yet, there was a part of her that felt she owed her some thanks for delivering to Terance precisely what he had delivered to her... 

Ironic, she echoed, her voice devoid of emotion as her tongue rolled over her nose and she breathed in the crisp night air. At the end of the day, this was a victory; he had gotten what he had deserved, after what he had done to her, to Lyra, to Alya. If anything had been forgiven, it had certainly not been forgotten. 

But it hadn't been forgiven. 

Her gaze fell back to his features, more alert now. Her voice was aloof, as though she were considering. Did she not want to leave you? she mulled over the words, Sunspire? Did someone else ask her to go? She tilted her head. Was it a hard decision for her to make? Did she promise to visit? Each word was pointed, direct—remnants of his last hours upon the home they once shared. At least she was direct with you. That was what you wanted from your fresh start, was it not? Not knowing—it hurts, came her sharp words, echoes of that day. 

She had gained all she had wanted and more tonight. At the very least he would see through her eyes and know what it was she had felt that day; her love for him could be compared to his love for his children; she had once felt as fiercely protective of him as that, of the Frostfur, too. All of Moonspear was her family, and he had been like blood to her. How perfect, for him to see it: his wife was his Rannoch; his children, himself. 

If she had forgiveness in her, it was not present tonight. Let him feel just a shred of what she had that moment, to see him turn his back on her as he had. She imagined that at the very least, he was not made an enemy of wherever his wife traveled to; Hydra had never had that luxury. And now that he did know, he might understand why it was not such an easy thing to swallow, to let go of. 

Distance is not the answer. It would destroy Rannoch. You are selfish, she snapped at length, understanding, now, what it was he had run from: that which he did not like to see, as it no longer suited his fancy. She did not care for Rannoch, to say as much to him—she simply wanted him to know he had been wrong from the very start in doing as he had done to her, knowing the false, meaningless words he employed then were really so he could go with Rannoch. He just wanted to make himself feel better about leaving, expressing his love, his friendship.

He would likely never be able to convince her of otherwise—maybe this, too, was why she could not forgive him. 

She pictured his wife's words to be just as empty as she spoke them to Terance—now he might understand how difficult, impossible, even, it was to believe them. And on that note, Hydra turned to quit his company, having had quite enough of feeling emotions herself for the night. This time, she did not think he would seek to stop her.