Hushed Willows [m] Hanging up the knives, humming melodies that rhyme

Making some vague assumptions, set after this

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Suicidal ideation

She would not go to Moonglow. Reverie had been diligent in following Kukutux's instructions; even now, even weakened and dizzy and shivering fiercely with cold, she made herself take the tea given to her for the days after her heat had passed. The scent of blood still clung heavily to her fur.

She was still afraid. But she bore her fear in silence and did not seek comfort, not from @Boone. She could scarcely even look at him. Each time she did, she could only remember how he'd looked at her; how he'd lifted her to her feet and turned away; how he hadn't even tried to comfort her. His burden, his boulder to push endlessly up the hill, and this time it was worse because he knew. He knew long before her heat had come upon her; he knew before he even married her, before all the promises of love and forever.

Reverie didn't know that she could speak to him without falling apart. She wanted to scream. She wanted to spit blood and venom, she wanted to cut the title of wife from her chest and throw it at his feet. She wanted to leave and be done with it. If she was such a burden to him, then why would she ever want to stay? Why would she want to do this again? Again.

She chose a corner of their den and tucked herself into it, far from where they slept together, and wondered if it was her own fault. Maybe this was all anyone could give her; maybe she'd asked something impossible of him, because all she could ever be was a burden. Reverie studied the stony walls of their den as she considered this, not really seeing the details at all. Her tears fell quietly now.

If she was such a burden to everyone who loved her, why would she want to live at all?