Herbalists' Cache a mad thought

she swallows hard, keeping the smile upon her lips, though it falters at the edges. she listens, searching his face, his voice, for something—something she cannot name, something she has begun to doubt.
his reassurances should comfort her, but they do not. not fully. because she knows what they say, what they whisper in the shadows. she had not listened before, refusing to hear it. but now—now, after gjalla, after all that has been done—there is a part of her that wonders if they were right.
misogyny in his blood, they said. born to lead, but she, always destined to be lower. a tear slips before she can stop it, betraying her. she turns her head slightly, blinking fast, before she forces herself back into place. she cannot let him see this doubt, this fracture in her. she must be strong. for him, for their children. for herself.
she steadies her breath and lifts her chin, meeting his gaze once more. and yours, she murmurs, plastering the smile back onto her lips. it is softer now, fragile, but it is there. they are lively.
she watches as he lowers his head to them, as he smiles at the tiny lives they have created. she should feel warmth, she should feel pride—but all she feels is exhaustion, a heavy weight settling in her chest.
i will heal, she echoes, though the words feel strange on her tongue. and i will teach.
but what of herself? who would mend her wounds?