Northstar Vale zwilling

Saltglint, in this unending silence;
bidden by the knowledge that again again again she had enlisted her ailing heart to one who would not proffer his own; that she was not this singular other; perchance would not ever be. Each breath that had been shared upon plinth and within serpent’s lair; those moons that she had promised herself to him without even her knowing: who is this before her? This golem that she has reawakened? He who sighs heavy, knelt before her; she does not know she does not know she does not know and
“You,”  hitching breaths,  “you once said that you would not blame me, if I did not wish to give you my womb,”  blinking ridiculous and shivering the tears that rivulet as molasses down cold, waxen cheeks; stifling.  “I agreed, for I was in love; for I so assumed that from such a making, our children would be singular from all those others. Heavens, I was ever enchanted—!”  chords fracturing; revelation,  “I would have given you an Astarte— yes! Astarte! Ours, my love! You were my heart’s blood. Ze breath in my lungs. How could I not ever name our bairn so, when—”
and here she faltered entire; rubied crown come to hang off-kilter from shuddering shoulders; wearied, fluted neck, “It would have all been for you, mein herz,” features churning with anguish, agony, at the tearing of her soul burning, searing, ruthless with the unraveling from his; their ending.

“But I cannot again mother, lest there e’er be—”
ze love that I deserve.