Noctisardor Bypass bedauert

Once, in a fit of desperation, Wylla attempted to use Mahler's language. It came after several embarrassing attempts in the presence of her daughter to make the guttural sounds fit her mouth so she might connect with him in some fashion, yet all that practice amounted to nothing. When she actually said the words — unknowing of her impish daughter's practical joke in teaching them — she sobbed them out, wishful for reciprocation that, at the time, did not come.

Now, she forgot the words, and there was something a little inappropriate in the laugh that bubbled suddenly in her throat when he spoke more of them. She had no right to this. She knew she had no right to this. But she savoured it anyway, took what she could get, until the day came that it was ripped away again. The day would come. Wylla couldn't make herself believe that it would not. It always came.

I still don't know what any of that shit means, she shared.