Sunset Valley Torn

i did.
morwenna’s voice was low, but not cold—worn through like fabric pulled too tight for too long. she stood with her body turned slightly from him, head high, as if the scent on him hadn’t already said everything. it clung like the heat of a dying fire. gjalla.
morwenna did not flinch.
but she did not smile either.
i was a fool, she said softly, words shaped with dignity and ache both. to tempt a man bound in another’s bed. to think myself above such things.
she breathed once—deep, steady—before turning her gaze to him, frost meeting coal.
my sister, and here, the word cracked just faintly, deserves a husband. not a shadow. not a ghost who haunts my mouth while she sleeps beside him.
a pause. a decision settled in her spine.
what you’ve done… makes this easier.
not kinder.
not cleaner.
just clear.