Sunset Valley Torn

morwenna’s breath left her in a sigh, heavy as dusk. it curled from her lips like something final. her eyes did not meet his at first—not because she was ashamed, but because she knew if she looked at him, she might falter. and there could be no faltering in this.
she needs you, she said quietly, the words a verdict more than a plea. and i will not stand in her way.
her gaze lifted now, steady and regal, the weight of woman and mother and something older—the queen who had lost everything and still stood. her face was composed, but it cost her. it always had.
gjalla loves with her whole heart. she believes in you. she believes in forever. and that belief deserves to be honored.
a pause, where the ache crept up her spine like a blade.
what we had—what might have been—cannot live in the same breath as what she dreams of. it would rot from the inside. it would break her.
she stepped back, just once.
not retreating. releasing.
you belong with her, morwenna said, quieter now, and yet it rang like a closing gate. and i will not be the woman who ruins her sister’s heart.
she turned before he could see the ruin in her own.