Hushed Willows tomorrow never comes until it's too late

It was perhaps the most words she'd ever heard her father speak without pause; Mae couldn't help but devote every ounce of her attention to his story. A culmination of events. It sounded dire. Yet as he went on, she found herself more annoyed than sympathetic to either of them, reading into both what he said and what he did not say. It sounded familiar if only in theme.

Something went wrong, so they'd avoided one another until it blew up and they told each other to get fucked. Yeah, she knew that one.

Mae supposed that if she had to side with either of them, it would have been Akavir, but largely she could summon nothing but apathy for events she could not remember and hadn't been a part of. It didn't matter half so much as the abrupt crumbling of the remnants of her childhood picture of the Infallible Adult.

She'd stopped believing a long time ago that all adults were good and kind. But she'd never truly stopped believing, above all else, that they knew what they were doing. That it was all intentional on some level, because how could they not know by now what kind of consequences their actions might have? Wasn't that the reward of adulthood, that knowing?

But it wasn't.

Perhaps not a conscious thought yet, this realization, but her heart fell with it nonetheless. You're both the same, The words poured from her bitterly before she could stop them. You never talk about shit until it's too late, and then - then sometimes you try, but you still don't get it, 'cause it's not a fuckin' one time thing. You're supposed to keep talking. You're supposed to show up every day, not just when you think something's wrong. And you - you -

Was she crying? Fuck.

I don't care if you hate Reverie, It came out louder than she'd intended. After a moment she caved to the urge to wipe her face, irritated by the itching feeling of cold tears against her cheeks. She couldn't stop crying. I wanna go home. I wanna pretend we know how to talk to each other. I wanna call you dad.

Mae didn't know what she was saying anymore. She felt too cold — or maybe just alone and scared, but cold was easier to feel. None of it seemed quite real.

As quickly as it'd fled, reality crept back in. The moment passed like a cloudburst; her tears dried. But I can't just - She glanced again in the direction Reverie had gone, voice still thick with emotion. They saved my life. Now Boone's dead and I can't even talk to Rev. I said some real shitty things to her. Dunno why she didn't kick me out, but she didn't. It'd be a dick move to leave now, right?

But - I dunno. I dunno what to do, Mae sniffled a little as she said it. She wasn't sure if she was asking for advice. It felt odd after her outburst. But it felt good, too. One step back and two steps forward; not quite traditional, but Mae never had been.