Firefly Glen vive, vivio, vivira

A coward of insidious make would harm whelps, yes, that much she’d come to finally learn, when she’d come to tell so few others where she’d brought these scars from in her life — but any more dwelling on that was dispelled by the mention of rank, a name, and a suggestion to rise.  (But I am risen? she wanted to quip.)  And the next words stoppered that little remark from flitting from her scarred lips. ...How long had it been since she’d been in the presence of a queen?

Then, another enquiry: this one just as viperish, but with a consideration that hadn’t been noted there before. Well... “Both, more recently,” she lent, lashes hooding low to shorn cheeks as her mind threaded back each and every past moon, fortnight, day, hour. “It seems to be more favorable, however, that I take what comes without further complaint or...”

The once-heiress shook her pale head, at her uncertainty, this meekness, whatever she’d turned herself into for the favor of others’ well-beings, nevermind her own, ever. “No. It is better if I keep each word to myself.” And then, we would not have left Diaspora. We would not have ran into Rusalka’s chaos. My children would not have been so furious with me. Dragomir would not have gone, and been—
If I had not spoken, we would not have been banished. Their father would not hold me to such contempt. Those of Kaisteloki would needn’t ever exhaust themselves because of my words that—

All aquiver now, with damnable thoughts that would’ve left her aghast, had she not been as worn as she was. But all Aurëwen could do was level gazes with Hydra once more, a tad more numbed than she’d awoken. My brother would not have left me. “I can never choose so simply, after all.” My fault.

With a voice so wry and mirthless, Aure truly had no clue what or who she was, anymore.