Sunspire Mountains she slipped the lock, and changed her dress

"then i have just the best news: i'm not dead," esmé said just as flatly, with a jouking lurch of her sharp-set shoulders when her mother narrowed her eyes at her—"but tiercel, your child? that stupid little girl who would run into the arms of a man just to get a taste of what having a father was like?" she dwelt calmly, crossing the stream to pace in an restless circle before fixing the woman icily in her sights, "she got a taste alright," esmé laughed mirthlessly at her own unsavory wordplay. it would be hard to tell if she was sincere or just trying to work her mother up into a pother, something she'd doubtless perfected in the womb. "she is. i buried her, me, esmé"

she stopped pacing and a sad, vacant expression streaked the midnight welkin of her face like a shooting star, too fast to catch unless you were looking for it. frowning, she snapped her gaze up and looked upon her mother with more detail than in the moments before. she noticed how her color had washed somewhat lighter since they'd last seen eachother. she appeared well-nourished, thriving even ... moreso than the wastrel she called a daughter.

wylla also struck esmé as being very much troubled, and long before she'd arrived. it showed in the features of her mien like displaced faultlines deep in the earth.

and, just as wylla had the intuition that there was something different about "tiercel", esmé intuited the same about the woman standing before her, asking questions she didn't want the answers to. "give me even one good fucking reason i owe you my life story!" she demanded, and then openly mulled over her mother's figure, "you look well fed. strong. been whoring yourself out for leftovers?" she remarked with voice like silk clenched between her teeth. fight with me, do it!

her mailed fist self-control was slipping. esmé snorted with a flare of her nostrils, pinning her ears and gritting her teeth. "tell me what you're doing here or i'm leaving."