Sunbeam Lair [m] Just give it time, the sands will pass

Mature Content Warning

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Mentions of suicidal ideation

She'd never wanted to come here again.
The place of Blossom's birth; the memory of being alone, truly alone in the way that terrified Reverie more than anything in the world. It was unchanged and yet it felt different, wrong. How could it be so quiet when all her memories were of screaming? How could it be so peaceful when she could still smell all the blood?
She could not forget the horrors of her pregnancy, even now. The utter vulnerability, the helplessness of feeling herself sicken and watching her body change. The ugly gnawing hurt of being abandoned with it. Blossom's arrival had only been a culmination of sorts. But she wondered, sometimes, what it would have been like if she hadn't been alone. If she had never tried to end it, end herself.
Reverie stepped into the middle of the cave and sank shakily to the ground. She looked up, and the sky looked nothing like it had that night.
Still, she wept.

She had allowed Prowler to grasp onto her back for a bit of respite from the constant traveling. But when she heard something from within a cave, Fiona shook off the bandit and gestured toward a nearby tree. No use in risking her familiar's life with a stranger, and the witch of Greenroot knew that the raccoon would be safer away from the sharp teeth of anyone she could not trust.

As she entered the cave, and her eyes adjusted to the darker scene, she focused on the lone figure in the center, weeping. Hey, are you... alright? Wanna talk about it?

She was not alone. Reverie startled at the unfamiliar voice, glancing all around the cave before she spotted the dark figure. Embarrassed, she hurried to dry her tears. Um, I - well - She bit her lip and tried again. No, I - I'm not alright, I guess. The confession slipped from her a little abruptly; it wasn't what she'd meant to say.
But she couldn't bring herself to take it back. Something terrible happened to me here, Her voice dropped as she continued, and her gaze fell away from the stranger. She looked back up at the sky briefly. Months ago. I... I'm not over it yet, I think. It felt good to say it, to finally speak aloud the hurt she had kept hidden for months in the vain hope of saving her marriage. Of course Lestan had known; how could he not? Yet she had tried all the same to stifle it, to staunch the bleeding of wounds too deep to ever heal, to twist and break and bend the ill-fitting pieces of their love back together, until her own hands were stained scarlet; until she no longer knew if the blood was hers or his. Only that it covered them both.

Fiona had found that, given permission, folks were willing to talk about themselves pretty readily. This lady seemed no different in that regard, and Fiona settled onto her haunches, tail wrapping neatly around her front paws. She was in quite a state, this stranger, and Fiona watched her movements and mannerisms with interest. The way she stuttered around words, danced around what she really wished to say, it was really quite sad.

Something bad had happened here, to this young woman, and Fiona pressed her lips together at the confession.

Do you want to be? Over it, I mean? she asked. Months was a relatively short amount of time to heal from something truly terrible, and Fiona had known some who took years to truly overcome their fears. Not personally, as she was rather a young thing herself, though her elders had passed the stories down to her.

The question was unexpected. Reverie paused, a slight frown tugging at her features. I don't know, She admitted after a moment, surprised with herself. I tried to be for a long time. I had to try, because it was the only way to - to make things work with my - husband. Her voice broke a little on the last word.
But now he's gone, And she felt a little colder saying it, a little less grief-filled and a little more... angry? It was unexpected. But maybe it made sense. And then her true confession began to pour from her, something Reverie had never admitted even to herself: And I think I hated him for putting me in that position. I don't think I want to be okay with it. He - he had his reasons, but I still can't forgive him. And everyone just - they acted like it was okay, that he left me alone to deal with being pregnant, when I was already unwell before that. Then he showed up acting like - like he had a place in it at all, after I suffered alone. He threatened to take my daughter from me. Her daughter, not theirs; had it not always been so? Even at the end Lestan had meant to abandon her with parenthood.
I guess I feel like if I get over it, then that means I'm saying that it was okay. And it wasn't. It never was. There's nothing worse than a man who promises he'll be around and disappears the moment it matters, Again she was surprised with herself, but relieved in some way to have finally voiced the extent of her hurt. It felt as if she'd been villainized at Swiftcurrent Creek, cast into the role of crazy hysterical woman while Lestan was seen only as reasonable, reacting, helpless in the face of her chaos. But he had made his decisions as much as she had. She'd never forced him to promise that he would stay; she'd never tried to keep him against his will, not until the very end at Saltshore when she'd had nothing else. She had given all of it up for him.

Fiona sat, listening. The woman explained that her relationship with her husband had been tumultuous in ways even the witch found troubling. To her, this man sounded manipulative, a narcissist, and perhaps even abusive. He had left her alone while she was with child? And while she was unwell? And he had thought to take her child away, even after all of that? The witch boiled beneath her own skin at a man who would do such a thing, and she had half a mind to track him down and give him a taste of some medicine that would cause him as much pain as he had caused this woman—this mother. No, not just that, the mother of his own child. It turned her stomach to think such men existed, although she had heard of such things before.

None of that was okay, Fiona assured her. He is a wretched, foul man. Gently, Fiona put her paw atop the stranger's, assuming she allowed. There is no getting over a thing like that, only learning to live beyond it.

A wretched, foul man; was that what Lestan was? Reverie had loved him, once. She still did. And she hated herself for that — but how could she forget the gentle way he'd spoken to her, the dedication he'd held through so much of their relationship? He had left her, yes, but he had stayed too.

But maybe that didn't matter so much in light of all that he'd done to hurt her.

Reverie calmed as the woman spoke, internalizing the words even as she processed them. She could only learn to live beyond it. She thought of Boone, then, and she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe some part of her hoped that he would heal these wounds, with his presence alone — but maybe that was stupid.

Sometimes I - She swallowed, glancing down at where the woman's paw rested on her own. The touch was comforting in spite of the fact that she was a stranger. She was a woman, and perhaps that was enough. Did they not all share the same inherent burden? Sometimes I hate myself, for letting him treat me that way. For begging him to stay, even at the end. What - what would you have done? If you loved a man who treated you that way? Her eyes found the stranger again, intent. Somehow she did not think this woman would bend so easily to the whims of men.

Maybe what she needed was to hear the perspective of one who would not have made the mistakes she did.