Stavanger Bay Wilted

Rejection in his words; that was all she heard, all she felt, and it was as if the breath had been stolen from her lungs. For Blossom. Not me. Was that truly what he wanted?
And there was a part of her that wanted to snap at him, to ask how he could even think of telling her how she should love her own daughter, the girl she had suffered so much to bring into existence and keep by her side. Lestan was the light in her life but Blossom was a piece of her, a little bit of her soul broken free to wander the world itself. Of course she loved her. But Reverie was realizing that — maybe she did want to be taken care of, and maybe she didn't want to be a mother. But maybe that meant she wasn't quite worthy of getting what she wanted.
She only nodded, but her look was far-away now, and would remain so. We should go to her, Reverie mumbled, and didn't wait for him to respond before she set off. I don't want to be the reason you live or die. It was just as well, then, that he had abandoned all thought of following the witch's plan. Reverie had thought on what he'd said about — choosing a god, finding light — and realized now that the truth would horrify him.
The truth: that she could hold nothing above him, nothing, and for this Reverie would pay with her life. He was the only god she knew now —
And in absence of his favor, she could only rot.