Shadewood all the saints of notre dame

The playful nip at his whiskers was met with a sloppy lick — take that, Masquerade.

Riley suppressed the jolt of surprise he felt to learn she’d been thinking of children. With him.

A warmth fanned its way across his chest, but then he noticed apprehension darken her face, and the words that came next were fraught and worried.

He wished he could take all this uncertainty, wrap it in a ball, and throw it as far as he could into the sea. He nudged her gently, trying best to think of how to frame his response.

After a while, he spoke.

I don’t think I’ve told you much about my childhood. This wasn’t going to be a trauma dumping session, but Riley needed her to know he knew all too well about family instability. But it was very difficult. Understatement of the century; my aunt tried to drown me, my mother couldn’t love me, I fell in step with cultists, my cousin-uncle thing tried to kill me — in summation, just a lot. It didn’t make me better. It just made me damaged.

He pressed his head to her again. I’m thrilled you would think of children with me. I want them to grow up in a place that is stable and kind. They deserve it. You deserve it. You love your family, but Your family tends to reward the wrong things. I don’t want our children to experience what you — or I — have experienced. So of course, I don’t want to return. I would though, if you wanted to - because the most important thing for me is you, not where I live.

Encouraging you to abandon a huge part of you is selfish. And you could resent me down the line for tearing you from your family. It has to come from you.

It has to be what you want.