Northstar Vale zwilling

the aching rift between them grew to yawn with her single utterance; mahler saw the futility of his mission. but it was not andraste he chastised — it was himself.
had he come sooner, or with more aplomb; if only he had not said such hateful and cold things; if he has held fast and not allowed himself to be goaded by her righteous anger.
if he could love, and properly, to meet aurëwen upon the plane for which she longed —
the measure of mahler's failing came to mount and mount and rise until at long last he dropped his eyes and gave a great sigh.
andraste, for whom he had pined and sweat and cried, for whom in the end he had crafted the epithet of dust.
how horrible in his brutality had he been in the face of her love.