Noctisardor Bypass [m] can you shatter my mirror to see outside myself

<3;;;;;;;;;;

mahler would place wylla above all, for the simple reasoning that he had never done so before. he owed her a great deal of respect ungleaned the past years; he knew it surely as the day was long that he loved her beyond the promise of motherhood. 
her season had come and gone; he had seen wylla in it.
the promise of laurel was aura'ed rose-pink, redolent, inviting; inviting to all of him; his failures, his weariness, his dead hopes for a new beginning. that last selfish part of mahler for something more than himself, something worth the tears of others, if only in the end his own pride be soothed. 
but it was not a way to live. not a way to be.
laurel's words were filled with a loathing he had not expected from the spun-sugar appearance; he stood before the glowing golden idol of her and was laid low. but it was the truth, was it not? mahler knew with all of himself that he would be able to justify his possession of her upon the worth and weight of her own testimony; that it must be him, that it was only he she trusted — how could he then turn her to the quick mad dominance of strange men outside his borders.
heart a galloping cadence by the time that she had finished —
"i have nothing, laurel." whatever she thought, he would not allow it to be that: the concept that he flourished in joy and left her to wallow in misery. "i have children i love and a voman i love, whom i hurt a hundred times over," a pause, gaze tightening at the edges of his lavender stare "— but did you know it is not enough? i have ruined things irreparably. ve cannot allow our own miseries begin a new generation. it is not right."
he watched down toward her, subdued, exhausted, suddenly, the erotic and the profane subsiding until it was only a low spice to his pulse.
"vhat if i asked somevone to go vith you? not me, just — an escort. a voman." he searched her face, begging inside himself that she take at least to heart this token;
it could not be him.