Noctisardor Bypass ich muss dir sagen

For a long time, Mahler said nothing. Wylla traced his gaze down to the three flowers scattered between them. One resplendent orange blossom, a sunburst over the sea of blue beside it. The ocean never sported so pure a colour. The rose lay next to both, and Wylla swallowed thickly. The colour of blood, and the colour Wylla associated with her life, every prick of pain she had ever felt, wrapped up in the thorns adorning its stem.

She followed Mahler's gaze back up and stared levelly at him. She thought she knew the sum of every word that ever could come out of his mouth. It always came back around to the same conclusion: that they were not right for one another and would be doing each other a favour if they never locked eyes like this again.

Nothing could ever prepare her for what he said instead. Those words yawned abyssal between them and Wylla felt pieces of herself sloughing off in the wake. The piece that felt she should have remained in Grimnismal instead of letting Caiaphas and Nyx dictate her self-worth enough to leave. The piece that felt she should have accepted him into her life when he found her and Tiercel, that perhaps he was the missing piece that bridged the chasm between her eldest and her. The piece that wondered if she had made the right decisions in her life, or if she should have chosen a different path.

The piece that dreamed of laying alongside him in the setting sun, watching young ones running around in the field with Phaedra and Thade and even Tiercel looking over them, spinning away on the breath of his admission, an ember curling at the edges.

If Mahler felt nauseous while he rambled on about Phaedra, it had nothing on the sense of impending doom and panic welling up in Wylla's stomach. What was she supposed to do with this news? Pretend that every moment they shared wasn't squandered by one or the other, both curdling with their own pride and stubbornness? Move on and waste not another second on the dead end that pursuing Mahler was proving to be? Break down at his feet?

It was the cold clasp of steel logic that first found Wylla, who quavered in place, but her voice was unwavering and accusing when she said, so, what? You're just gonna give up and let it happen? As if death was something you could just will away. As if Mahler had any power over it. I thought you were a healer, god damnit!