Stavanger Bay I know what they say, I know that they say that no one dies from love

She was broken. A broken creature who could only ever offer a broken love, a stilted love; one Lestan would not accept now that he saw that it was more than just folded corners and torn edges, that it was thrice-shattered and awkwardly mended with something sticky and noxious, the kind of love that could only cling and burn like tar.
Reverie did not pull away from his touch. She let him hold her, and she let herself think that maybe one day this too could be fixed. She did not allow herself to wonder what it would look like then, how the glass shards might fit when pieced together anew. If they were lucky, perhaps the light would catch them in a new way, and they might relearn how to find beauty in one another. Or maybe — maybe their love was so broken now that any mending would only muddy it, and no light would ever shine through their marriage again.
She didn't know; she had a feeling it would be a long time before she did.