Emberwood [m] I want to be known for my hits, not just my misses

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Well... that escalated.
A proclamation came tumbling from the ghost’s lips—a request to know where the fallen soldier of the creek lay to rest, and he felt a flame of indignation stir him then. The reminder of everything she had done came to the forefront of his mind—the way Moss had become almost despondent when Reverie had left only added a credibility to the words that she spoke now of love, but he could not help the snort of disdain that escaped him now.

Could Reverie truly love anyone? She only seemed to love herself—in this moment, it became the thought he focused on now.

“Don’t,” he hushed, his tone holding an admonishment. He, Arric and Moss had worn themselves thin trying to help Reverie in whatever ways they could—from consoling her, to hunting down some witch with a vendetta against her, to trying to help her thrive with a surprise little one. None of it had ever been good enough for her.

“You don't get to make her death about you.” His eyes narrowed—he should just walk away. Save a sliver of his sanity from what was likely to transpire between them, but he couldn’t. Not until he said his piece. “And save your act—I don’t give a shit about your tears.”