Sleepy Fox Hollow And to know me as hardly golden is to know me all wrong

it seemed aeons passed before takiyok spoke. of course mahler had know what she was going to say; how could he not? despite this, however, the musiker was unaware of how the utterance would bludegon him inwardly. drawing a breath, wanting little more than to walk away from the winterwhite in utter refusal to watch her depart, mahler nodded instead.
a mute thing, a silent gesture; the tie between tongue and head had been severed momentarily.
takiyok was correct. she was meant to rule, and to be loved. to be adored. to be worshipped.
he had done her a great disservice, an unwarranted coldness.
ketzia had left him like this as well, mahler recalled; his throat tightened. "i vish you only good things, takiyok." his body felt as if it would turn to ice. and stag? surely — the gargoyle found he could hardly bear the thought. focus returned to the fierce northerner. 
"i am sorry." for it all. for every inch he had taken. too late now. that was his punishment.