Swiftcurrent Creek That's where I go to be the stranger that I am

Reverie wanted to be alone.
That should have been her first hint that something was wrong. No, not wrong, not exactly; this was natural, it was expected, it was the piece that had been missing in the aftermath of that terrible night with Lestan and Tybault. It just didn't feel good, and maybe that was why Reverie had avoided it for so long. She was thinking about Tybault —
And oh, the storm of feelings that accompanied thoughts of her brother! At once she felt nauseated, dizzy, overwhelmed. She sought the place where she slept with Lestan, sought safety, or at least as close as she could get to it when she could not bear his presence. Lestan had hurt Tybault, hurt him very badly, and Reverie was only distantly ashamed to find that she did not care as she should; that she still felt he'd deserved it. But — it hurt that she had to feel that way, it hurt to know that it had come to this. She'd loved Tybault, after all. She'd loved him dearly, even knowing what he was and what he'd done.
Tybault had always thought his greatest shame was that he wanted to marry a man, and Reverie found that ironic now that she was detached enough to see it that way. To be so ashamed of love, yet so proud of violence, and still think yourself a victim — but maybe that wasn't fair. They had all suffered in The Gilded Sea. And Tybault... always did what he thought was best, even if his sense of it was quite warped. She grimaced to remember the deliberate way he'd called out that name; even the tone of it had been off. He had known what he was doing. She did not want to imagine what might have happened if Lestan hadn't been there, but she didn't have to. She knew;
Tybault would have taken her back to Everett and Evander, and they would have cared for her. She would have been angry and hurt when she came back to herself, and perhaps would never have forgiven Tybault, but for love of the twins she would have stayed. They would have fallen back into old habits. Time would pass, and Tybault would play nice for a time, but eventually he would get pushy. Eventually he would want to talk to her. He would want her to become a homemaker and a healer, that was what she was meant to be because it was what he needed, and then he would want her to practice —
Reverie shuddered and began to cry, coiling into a tight ball with tail wrapped around herself. She'd kept his secrets, all of them, for so long now that she felt they must have festered inside of her. But how could she tell anyone? She had been a part of it too, and the shame of it was forever branded on her skin. If he deserved what Lestan had done to him, then... what did she deserve?