Hushed Willows [m] Takes his mask off and lulls his head

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She rose with the sun to a gentle snowfall just beyond the den mouth, and thought that she felt very odd; not at all like herself. For a time Reverie tucked herself in @Boone’s arms, shivering faintly every now and then. She found comfort in the thrum of his heart. She loved that sound, perhaps more than any other in the world; the sound of the life she so adored. His steadiness, his warmth, the sheer beauty of his existence and every breath he drew. She sought the sound and the feel of it whenever she could; her lips at his throat and his wrist, her cheek against his chest, his chin resting atop her head. This was hers. He was hers.

She loved him so, so very much. Sometimes it felt like suffocating. Sometimes she wanted to scream.

By midmorning she slipped from the den, overcome with the need to breathe. To simply exist for a moment, unburdened; to shed the weight of all the promises and the wants and the fervent devotion like a bridal gown donned every morning. Each day she chose him anew. Each day, his wife, redefined again and again. She loved him so much. Sometimes it was exhausting. Sometimes she wanted to find a place to be utterly alone and cry.

She brought with her the skin of herbs given to her by Kukutux, not really thinking about it even as she set it beside her at the Opal Lake. For a time Reverie watched the snow fall. She wept, but only a little.

Children. Boone would have children from her, and then his world would revolve around them, and hers would still be centered on him. Always him. Did that make her a bad person? Unfit to be a mother? Would he still love her if he knew? Reverie felt that he would leave her if he could see the path ahead of them, ahead of her; the sleepless nights and the tears and the bitterness because she knew that he would love their children more than he would ever love her.

Live for her. For Blossom. Not me.

I don't want to be the beginning and the end, Reverie.

Even now she felt the words like a serrated edge gnawing between her ribs, piercing her lungs, filling her throat with blood until she could taste nothing else. It would happen again. It was happening again, and she was letting it happen, she was choosing it, choosing this, choosing to suffer and she hated herself for it —

But she loved him. She loved him so much. Sometimes it felt like she didn't need to breathe at all. Sometimes it felt like she could scream and nothing would ever break the silence.

By afternoon, the scent of Reverie’s first heat surrounded her, and it filled the willows now. Numbly she began to prepare the tea, glancing up every so often to watch for others. Boone would find her, she knew. He always found her when she needed him.