Blacktail Deer Plateau witchcraft's wine

Blue had come to the conclusion weeks ago now, that she could never have what she did. She could never have Atticus as she did, never have a love like that. Had their been one to last, she had no doubt it would have been one of large passion and enduring. There were moments when the thought of him still caused her pause and it would steal her breath. There were times she still would cry just for him, but she also knew that in order for her to be happy, she had to move on. No matter how badly it hurt, or how badly she felt crushed. And thus far she felt she had done well.

Blue frowned in thought, no it doesn't. There was a time I thought it would, that I would have never agreed to such a thing. But I have grown and I have found. I am not nearly as traditional as I thought I was. It is probably my father's free spirit from which that stems. She for a moment felt lost, where had her morals and ideals gone. She remembered a time, when she had spoken to Peregrine and Atticus of her ideals and her morals. And at the time she would have never settled for such a companionship, but her mind had changed in time. And she found she didn't really mind that it had.