Stavanger Bay It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero

Making some assumptions, let me know if anything should be changedddd

In the wake of their acceptance into Saltshore, Reverie lacked the drive and focus to hold herself together any longer. She followed @Lestan wherever he led her, and found a place to rest, clinging to her tenuous grasp on here and now —
But when she saw a flash of green eyes, she knew that she could not anymore. Rose, She breathed, and reached for her dancing golden form thoughtlessly; Rose! Dancing! Reverie forgot Lestan entirely. All she knew was her sister, the scent of her and the grace of her movement, the beauty she brought to this moment of tragedy. But when Rose stopped and turned to her, Reverie felt her heart drop to see the sorrow etched into her features. She was weeping, but why? "You're dying," Rose answered before she could ask, her voice a drifting song of wind and sea. Dying. No, no, she couldn't be dying —
I'm not dying, A tremulous whisper into the salt-laden air. I'm not. Lestan will - he'll -
"He won't save you," Rose was shaking her head sadly, taking a step forward in invitation. "Not this time. He won't even try, Reverie."
He will, he will, he just needs time… Reverie inched backward, unable to stand but unwilling to let Rose any closer. I - I can't go with you. Not yet. She straightened a little, feeling suddenly stronger than she had in weeks.
"Is this really what you want? You were promised to him, but a promise can be broken. You can still belong to yourself, like we always wanted." There was something cold in Rose's voice, something she did not recognize. She knew then that this was not her sister, not at all. Reverie's hackles flared.
Always. I will always choose -
"Then you will burn."
I was made to burn.

But the time for speaking was over. Reverie shrieked and scrambled to her feet as if set aflame, and for a few desperate heartbeats she sought the safety of Lestan's arms. Whether she found it or not, the next moment took with it her hold on consciousness, and all the fight left her in an instant.

The sundancer.
The light that follows the flame.
The girl in the reverie.
Just another lost spirit wandering in a world that was not her own, but along the way she had collected so many little things that might now pass for an identity. A sense of self. Reverie had never possessed much of that, in spite of her assertions and her convictions. What she wanted was to be loved, and so she collected a little bit of everything that she saw was loved in this world. It didn't matter to her that love was not always good or kind or right. It was always beautiful.
So maybe it made sense that she would throw it all away for this, this love that consumed her in the way of sickness. It was for love that she had done this to herself; it was for love that she drew shallow breath even now. No one had ever loved her as much as Lestan did. He was the light in her heart, the only thing that brought warmth and kept the flowers blooming; he was her soul-tie, her promise, her future. He was unlike anyone else, shrouded in light and shadow and meant for things beyond Reverie's understanding.

Even so, it was not about him. It wasn't about Reverie either, but she had known that all along.

It was about the flowers — and her.
She appeared to Reverie in a flash of light and a torrent of rain, a thousand eyes blinking in unison, a flurry of pale wings folding and unfolding all around her. And she remembered the witch's words: you must touch divinity. Suddenly she was certain that must be what she had found.
Mother Rain, she thought, but she knew that was not quite right. It was the face of a god Reverie looked upon, mother to more than just the rains — and she was dying. Just as Reverie was dying, but it was more than that; the death of a god was a terrible thing, an inconceivable thing! She could not understand it. What could kill a god?
Her god, she knew in a sudden rush of warmth; the rains that followed her, the birds who went silent for her, that intangible force which seemed to draw others to her in spite of her failings. Even Blossom, Reverie's impossible feat of magic in a world which rejected all other attempts. Her god had always watched over her. All it would take was a touch and she would be well again.
But she couldn't. She only had a moment to wonder why — and then she began to remember.
Her dream; the brightness; not entirely Reverie; the screaming; the loss; the questions —
She had tried, and in the process had lost a piece of herself. She was not ready, not yet, and that was why she needed Lestan. But before she could understand in full, Reverie was struck by a sound incomprehensible to her yet somehow perfectly clear.
The voice of her god, telling her many things — telling her that if she lived, it would be for something greater than what she had reached for. That she would dance for the favor of the sea and the sky; that she would nurture the flowers and the birds; that she would burn endlessly, and always seek the rains; and she would bear only daughters, and each time would sacrifice a piece of herself for the gift of life.

Reverie woke some hours later in a haze. She blinked into consciousness and, as she always did, reached for - Lestan?

there was no longer any ability in lestan to rest. their first night here had been fitful, full of wakings and mutterings.
numbly he held reverie, reaching for the love he knew lived beneath the surface of the cold place; it warmed him, warmed them. but as she walked in waking visions, murmuring, lestan looked away from her.
the doe had appeared twice to him now; the blood dripping from her throat haunted the back of his eyes until he could hardly shut them without shuddering.
her cries tore at him, and for the first time in wakefulness he saw the cat with her curling accent, smirking at him from across the plateau.
his arms shuddered around reverie, who had returned to herself, speaking his name as she often did, and he remained silent, his eyes fixed staring upon the place where the feline had been — where she had disappeared.
the concept of speech for the moment had fled him, and at long last he looked down into her face, jaws working but no words emerging.
lestan left off his attempts then, shutting his gaze fully and holding reverie against his heartbeat as he often did, willing for the sound to soothe her.

Burning —
She wanted him. There was no sense in it, not even a sense of magic; it was not for any divine reason that she craved his touch, and surely it would do nothing to help her current state. All the same she kissed him, not unaware of his distress but choosing to try to soothe it with the love they shared. Reverie knew what haunted him, or at least knew in the way of spirits; she had only brief glimpses of images that told a story she could never put into words, but it was more than enough to know that Lestan was suffering. What a pair they were; her, made to burn, and him...
Reverie curled closer, her intentions clear in the way her hips shifted just slightly against him of their own volition. She wanted him so desperately, she thought nothing of all the reasons they should not, could not — and of course, she had no way to know that Lestan had already made this decision for them.

reverie wanted him, and lestan quaked in fear.
she had been too young! too young! to deliver blossom, and yet she had, to great detriment against her own body. there was no blood, and yet he could smell it, the metallic, thick fragrance of the suffering through which he had put her!
these conflicting thoughts killed the spike of ardor that spiraled through lestan, killed his flesh.
"i-i'm sorry," he whispered, shamefaced and miserable, glancing down instead of at her. "i c-can't."
the cornflower eyes willed her desperately to understand.

Can't. Reverie stilled against him, taking a moment to simply process this. He couldn't. And why not? Immediately she thought of the ways she had changed; she was thinner now, but so many things about her would never be quite the same, even down to the texture of her skin and the set of her hips. Reverie carefully but thoroughly pulled away from Lestan as if afraid to move too quickly, suddenly very aware that her touch might be unwelcome.
You don't want me, It wasn't a question; her voice was hardly more than a whisper. She couldn't look at him. Instead she looked anywhere else; the sand, her own paws, a bird in the distance. I - it's okay. I know - my body has changed... But she was barely holding back the tears that threatened her now, and it showed.

"n-no! not at all, reverie, that's-that's nothing to do with it!" lestan exclaimed, clasping one of her paws between his own, bending to kiss her wrist. "it's y-your — illness. sickness."
now his eyes were truly filled with guilt. 
"if y-you were too young to have blossom, then that makes me —" well, horrendous. piggish. lustful. unethical. 
demoralized, lestan opened his arms to her again. "it has n-nothing to do with your body, how you look, and all to do with me!!"

Reverie blinked, too caught off-guard by the truth of Lestan's reasoning to question its authenticity. It was because of her age, and for a moment she wasn't sure what to do with that. Of course she was aware of their age difference, but beyond feeling slightly intimidated and embarrassed by the inevitable fact that Lestan knew more of this world than she did, she had never given it much thought.
She realized she did not know what to say. Rather than speak, she tucked herself against him, never able to stay away from him when he beckoned her this way.
You didn't do anything wrong, Reverie managed after a small silence, but her voice trembled with something akin to heartbreak. It felt like the closing of something between them, one of the things that Reverie felt made their connection different from all the others she'd forged. Not the only thing, surely, but it hurt. It felt like a distance that would be impossible to close. She could not make herself age any faster, nor could she change the past. There's - nothing wrong with our love. I chose to be with you, and I chose to have Blossom. I just - wasn't ready, but that was my decision, not yours.

lestan supposed that in time he would relinquish this choking guilt, for it truly was not the fault of her own. nor his, though he did not believe and would not. 
"reverie," came the soft plead of his voice; he enfolded one of her paws between his own two, and looked down at this connection for a moment. "please do not think it is for l-lack of desire. i — i am terrified that i will b-bring more suffering and i am unwilling t-to do that."
he held his tongue between teeth a moment.
he knew nothing of this world or others.
"we came here for a new start, and we shall have that," lestan decided at last. "but first, you must heal." he pulled away if only to find her eyes with his own. "i will find every healer and doctor on the coast if i must!"

She could not change his mind, it seemed, and this realization was the beginning of a spiral that she couldn't stop. Her eyes brimmed with tears at the thought that he might never touch her again, that she might have to seek such intimacy elsewhere. She couldn't stand to be entirely without it, of this she was certain, but Reverie was less certain she would be able to live with the guilt.
She swallowed, still unable to look at him. That won't help, Reverie muttered at his mention of healers, a little frustrated that he still doubted her own knowledge and ability in healing. But she didn't want to linger on the topic of her sickness, couldn't even begin to imagine the opinions Lestan held; as far as she was concerned, it was her own fault, and she assumed that he had accepted the truth of that when she'd said it.
Is... is this why you don't want to marry me? She finally found the courage to look at him, eyes shining with tears that still refused to fall.

"i a-always wanted to marry you," lestan said mournfully, the sorrow turned through all of him as if he had upended a pitcher of cold water over his own head. "it j-just — i w-wanted to be romantic, and ah — things just keep happening."
the honeyblue eyes blinked.
"do you still w-want to marry me, reverie?" despite the fact that he could not touch her, had not protected her.

Of course I do! The tears started to spill then, and she kissed him, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Lestan, I - I want that more than anything. Reverie pulled away to meet his eyes, feeling quite the mess of mixed emotions.
I've wanted it from the beginning, She said softly, though it shamed her a little to admit it. Ever since he had mentioned marriage — it simply hadn't left her mind, and that want had only grown until she could want nothing else, not truly. She loved him; she loved him so much, so wholly and intensely, that she sometimes thought she had never truly loved anything or anyone at all before she met him.
Why wouldn't she want to marry him?

"then —!"
here. now.
lestan mayfair looked very seriously at reverie; he cleared his throat at the same time tears leapt to his eyes, creating a visual effect of great interest.
"i'll marry you this second, reverie mayfair!" he cried lowly, trying to fight the emotion even as his heart leapt and raced and pounded;
husband;
wife.

Reverie Mayfair.
She kissed him; softer this time, warm with love and absent of the desire which had consumed her just moments before. He didn't want her that way, so her own want was snuffed like a spent candle; the grief of it, too, vanished in this moment. It didn't matter. Lestan was her husband.
Hers, forever.
When Reverie finally parted from him, slightly breathless now, she couldn't hold back a brief, delighted giggle. She was immediately a little horrified with herself. Sorry, I just - Reverie sucked in a breath, feeling lightheaded. You! Are my husband! My husband! She kissed him again, this time on his cheek. I love you. I love you.