Swiftcurrent Creek [m] I can feel the city crumbling around me

Vagues my way around some things

She wanted to tell Moss that she had been wrong, that there was no love without pain, that it would always hurt as much as it did now. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to forget that she had ever met Lestan, who even now burned a wretched hole through her chest. Reverie knew that she could not have Moss. Did she want her, truly?
Yes —
But not as much as she wanted Lestan. No one could ever take his place. And that was why Reverie wished so badly to forget, because she knew it was the only way this love would ever leave her. As long as she still remembered, she would still want him. She would still choose him. Always.
So she kept herself still despite the urge to explore, to let her touch wander and find out all the ways a woman's love might feel different from a man's. Reverie let the time slide away from them and sent her thoughts elsewhere. She thought of the future; children, and Lestan forever. Despite the warmth she felt, it scared her. Not because she didn't want it.
Moss, I - She was surrendering their embrace now in favor of speaking, face to face the way they ought to. I need you. Please. I need - a friend. Lestan said that he'll be there, as a husband and a father, but - Reverie was seized by a sudden fear that he would stumble across them, that he would hear her. She glanced around to assure herself that it was not true.
He was upset, when I told him, Reverie had been upset too, but she felt his reaction was something more. Something deeper. Revulsion, perhaps. I don't know what that means. But I can't stop thinking about it. Something about him had seemed — angry, almost. And it frightened her. She loved him no less, but she couldn't trust him, and she did not know if she ever would.
Foolishly Reverie clung to the notion that what she had shared with Moss had been nothing more than a hug; that Moss herself could only be ignorant to Reverie's feelings.