Altar of Twilight andächtig

Undeserving.

Nyx had heard him say this of her affections before, on more than one occasion. She saw it only as rejection, time and time again; a gentle way of telling her that she could never be good enough for him. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure why she continued allowing these soft confessions to spill from her lips, for she had accepted long ago that fate had only darkness in store for what remained of her future. Perhaps, however, if she dared to wish long enough, there could be some small glimmer of light.

She closed her eyes, let him step closer and flared her nostrils to drink deep the scent of him that wafted in her direction with such movement. After a long moment of holding her breath, it was released in a shaky, smoky plume as she blinked up to seek Mahler's dark features.

Frosted amethyst. She recalled so vividly how she'd hoped her children would favour their father's pallet while she carried them, particularly the unusual shade of his wise eyes. While Ciri had inherited a pelt that greater resembled her sire, it was Elke who'd gained the real prize. Nyx thought of each similarity their daughters shared with him and, as she tried to tug each corner of her mouth upward in a solemn smile, she couldn't quite shake the sinking feeling that this might be the last time she would look upon Mahler's face.

At least she would have Ciri and Elke to remind her of him, she thought. She would turn to them to see not only the greater parts of herself, but of this man she'd so longed to love.

"I never asked for you to be sorry," she told him hoarsely, "and I don't want you to be."

Nyx wanted to close the distance, to fit herself snug beneath his throat and against his chest where once she wondered if she might belong, but she could not. It was all too raw - for him, for her. So the gilded Ostrega simply stood there, useless, awkward, ashamed to have made herself so vulnerable in the presence of another that she knew could never be hers.