Jade Fern Grove You assume I'm fine, but what would you do if I

but i want to treat you as if you are special, his mind hummed, too late too late too late. it was grace enough that she was at his borders. but of course she would come, of course she would return time and again to visit the children that remained with mahler, however inexplicably.
the truth of her tormented him; his claws gripped into the ground with the effort of not reaching toward her —
"very vell, vylla," he said, successions of accenting ground down beneath a tone that tried and almost became formal.
undone, this, by the vexation of his eyes as mahler looked last upon her small hardened frame.
"goodbye," palesworn and threadbare. the gargoyle turned, he would not look upon their meet, nor her again.
he would not come back to his borders until wylla had parted from their pair.