Qeya River dance the ghost with me

QR was officially up for like... what, a day and Akavir managed to blow this up on them?
Nothing I say will ever be good enough for you. It wasn’t you. It was always me. The resident fuck-up… can’t even have a safe place to go. No one listens to me. No one believes me. I’m always the villain.

On and on it continued. It had been hard watching her in the creek like this, too—the self-deprecation and self-loathing.

It was infuriating—the insistence that she just wanted a place where she wasn’t met with contempt—as if he had done anything but try to provide that to her in the creek. That he hadn’t openly believed her about anything and everything—questions unasked.

She had been his friend—had she been more, at some point? Almost, surely—the memory of kissing the scars along her back came to the forefront of his mind—but Silvertongue’s grasp on him could never fade, and he knew Wren could see such now—

—because here was the honesty. That Wren didn’t want him near her wife.

Accusations slung out then at him talking with Silvertongue, and he shook his head slowly. “I said goodbye to her, you delusional clown.” He snorted again—apparently, the sound that had intially sparked the ember into a full blown inferno. “You literally have everything right now and look at you—you still can’t be happy. You can’t be grateful. And yeah—we did just talk. Maybe you should trust your wife more.”

She inched closer and he was tempted to meet her head on—a physical blows as the tension escalated would have been a welcome distraction now—but with a nursing mother? With Wren?

Pale eyes drifted over her as he began to turn away. Only now could he see how absolutely necessary it was for the wives to move away. Because this toxicity… No.

“Mae’s fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Because out of all of that—Wren hadn’t once cared to ask about his blinded daughter. Turning, he began to trot away—teeth clenched, his pace quickening unless stopped. The more distance between them now, the better.