Northstar Vale zwilling

soured; bitter; wormwood.
upon her taking of aurëwen from his lips, mahler had known it sundered.
he was charged by ownership of his faults; he had been ready to articulate his faults upon her wilting ear, had not she dragged astarte from the grave.
mahler saw then; heart unto stone. she would remake what she had abandoned, and sought his blood for the blighting.
there was no desire within mahler alive now to stop andraste,
never again aurëwen, whom he had whelped and later adored upon proud moonspear, worshipped with all of himself —
lip curled silently as she tore herself from him, sun from earth; and though he felt agony at the ripping, a deep cracking of the soulshard dedicated in completion to andraste, mahler found it incomprehensible to remember how she had been in the beginning.
not with his poor dead entlein hovering shadelike and shivering between them then;
not when she had turned aside and forbade him her name;
not when the promise of children carried with it now the blatant inkspill of their co-mingled and unfruitful desires.
roused from his stillness, mahler at last turned and glanced to the sentinels, impassive as he bid a final farewell unto courtfall and its queen.