Sawtooth Spire You took my hand and we pretended like I was your guy

Wylla was, at her very core, a tornado given wolfish form. What respite there was to be had occurred only when everything was perfectly aligned, and in Mahler's case, that was not so. She was too steeped in paranoia and jealousy and other ugly, thorny emotions to be able to see fields of green on the other side of any situation, so she pulled away with a soft snort and turned her head to face him full, so he could understand the sincerity of what she was about to say.

Phaedra adores you. The girl seemed far more enamoured with her father than she ever was her mother, which stung a little, but at least she had Thade. The boy was reticent, though, and it was difficult to tell whether he preferred her company or Mahler's, or no one's, but she contented herself with thinking he was her little boy, while Phaedra's was daddy's girl. She's going to be heartbroken when her papa doesn't have all the time in the world for her anymore.

It didn't matter if he would be happy to do it again or not. He'd already done it, and his children would suffer for it. Both sets, although she only cared about her own. If he sought commitment he would have to give all of his—not just to her, but to making it right for his daughter and his son. She's not going to understand when you tell her it was a contract, and they are not her siblings. This, delivered firmly. She would never stand for that. She's only going to see her papa spending time with other kids, and she won't understand. How do you plan to make that right?