Fox's Glade My silent lips

no sooner had the admission slipped from her mouth did indra lose all sense of noble composure. a sob wracked her frame, clawed its way up her ribcage, forced itself up her throat -- and then died there in the air, gasping. she was vulnerable, she was pathetic -- cognizant of this the redleaf woman attempted to repair the flimsy walls of her self-control that had been blown to smithereens by her overwhelming despair.

but could she tell him? would she lose him if she did? somehow, for a man that had been tenuously in their life at best, the idea of him turning away from them (or her) forever seemed unthinkable. it might be the last blow to indra's shaky construct, and she could not risk that. "i just did." indra inferred, feeling herself shut-down. she was certain if she told him of what she had done (and she had not told anyone) that he would be disgusted and horrified. she could not explain it without betraying laurel either -- for no other soul knew the nature of laurel's conception except for her.

she was being selfish, she knew. xan had just shown more emotion and compassion in the last thirty seconds than he ever had before; he was hurting -- she could see it -- but all indra cared for in that moment were her and laurel's own ugly demons.