Sawtooth Spire But time makes you bolder

takiyok brushed him, and it reminded mahler that he did not recall when last it had been. within his heart, an wellspring of agony cut through the harsh loam of his heart; it spilled into waters that raced along the cracked earth of him. wylla. so cruel the fate of the child she had raised without him.
a lump that grew like a badly swallowed bite of fish; mahler blinked and fought himself only a moment longer until he dropped his crown, resting it gently against her thinned shoulder.
"i find that i have been vicious to all i should have treasured, takiyok," he blundered in a moment of excessive feeling; the spring rose once more, and this time his cheeks grew wet with its overflow. "and i have never atoned. and now, i vill be made to do just that." a painful, wormwood irony.