Shadewood “Til’ Death Do Us Part?”

The empress knew her words had hurt him as much as his own had hurt her. But there was nothing she could do.

The catch in his throat when he spoke, the tremour of his voice... such great dispair fled over her retreating form, so overwhelming that with the sting in her eyes and the weight in her belly, she had to stop, dead in her tracks. When the sea roared, it would not last forever - soon enough, the thunderous waves would slow, a mass of shifting blue, coming to peace with the world again; that didn't mean some were not drowned in the process. Her lungs felt stiff, empty, and yet somehow full of bile - she couldn't breathe.

An airless gasp poured from between her lips in her struggle, but she fought the dizzying blackness away to try and fix what she'd done. She'd broken it all again... her only true talent, when reality kicked in and the dreams returned to just that: dreams. She was the one who'd done this. "Raziel, no..." she whispered, feeling the shadows return to wrap her in their cold arms. "But... there is a difference... I... I would never be able to bear someone else's child, even if you let me. You... I..." The tears brewed at the edges of her eyes, and it took the entirety of her strength to hold them back. "...I wouldn't care if I had no children, because... I would have only you. And... that's all I want." Even if it meant no young to soothe her soul - she could never let another man impregnate her other than him, but clearly, her husband would be willing to give young to another woman.

"Then to hell with it, kill me!" was what her mind wanted to scream, the shadows pushing with all their force to take over. She would not let them. "I-If you will not let me blame myself, then damn it Raziel, I can't let you blame yourself!" What permitted him to force the wrongs onto himself, when all her heart wanted to do was please him? What gave him the right to yell at her for hating herself, when he seemed to do exactly the same--

No.

The snowbird couldn't be dragged down with the self-loathing, the demons that whispered in her ear. Something was happening again, and she knew the longer she stayed, the worse harm she'd do to her beloved... the best thing would be to leave. To rest, to battle with her destruction herself, to keep it under control and then... and then what? Gwen did not have the strength to disobey whatever desires her husband had in mind, whether he chose to let her bear his young or didn't. She barely had the strength to stand. Her body wanted to wallow in the hurt and let it swallow her whole.

"...I love you," she whispered, but perhaps it went unheard. The wind pulled any speech from her lips and cast it to the bowells of the earth, far into the distance where her pleas for solace would be ignored - burned, just as her heart.

Then, she did what she was best at: she ran, disappearing into the fog, sealing the conversation with a grim pain of nothingness.