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

She hadn't meant to turn their spare time together sour, but it was what she did best, after all. Wylla had only a grimace for a response. They saw things too differently for there to be any compromise on this issue: Mahler saw himself doing his duty to a wolf who was deserving of children. Wylla saw him fucking someone other than her. She saw children as the result of a relationship, whereas he saw them as the reason for it.
Their differing views, in short, made them incompatible.
She could not read his mind, but she could read the tense ice that began to edge his tone, and knew she'd angered him again. Good, she thought. If he was angry with her refusal to commit to him just yet, then it was his own doing. Let it remind him that he could not have his cake and eat it too. She would allow there to be no doubt in her mind before she finalized anything with him, and right now, paranoia would not allow her to take his word for it that he wasn't murmuring sweet nothings to his other woman.
Mahler departed. Wylla didn't stop him. She would've preferred the passion of an argument, to air their grievances, to properly set fire to them and allow them to burn and maybe, just maybe, they could then work past them and maybe she could begin to trust that his intentions with Nyx were not the same as his intentions with her... but Mahler was the ice water of a mountain spring and her flaming soul could not ignite him. He left and she sat in bitter silence, heart hurting from the secret rendezvous she imagined he kept from her.