Stavanger Bay Rot

There was something soothing about her presence, something that reminded Reverie very much of how Lestan had once made her feel. It was different, of course — but the sense of peace felt familiar all the same. She saw him in her more every day, especially as her eyes began to change to dual tones. The reminder was every bit as painful as she'd once dreaded it would be. For Blossom. Not me. Did he know what that really meant, when he said it?
Well, he would soon.
Reverie smiled softly at Blossom's reaction, taking two leaves for herself to mask the terrible scent on her breath. Now she leaned in to kiss her daughter on the forehead, delighting in the small gesture of affection so much that she couldn't help but pull her into a gentle embrace in the next moment. I love you, She murmured to her, recalling, as she always did, those first days. Blossom had been so small, so entirely dependent on her that it had scared her. It still scared her — and that, she supposed, was why living for Blossom felt so empty to her. There was no real companionship in this constant, driving sense of guilt and love and worry and pride and guilt and guilt and guilt.
She kissed her head again, released her. What do you think of mint, Blossom?