Her letter to Yatrel had grown longer than intended, flowing from detailed and respectful gratitude into sothing approaching confession.
/ ...I find myself questioning whether I possess even a fraction of the maternal wisdom you demonstrated so naturally. In monts of reflection, I recognize how much the rembered experiences of my past life have shaped . Into soone who fundantally lacks the sort of gentleness that motherhood seems to require... /
The quill hovered above the page, ink threatening to blot over the very word ’motherhood’ as mories she’d kept carefully contained began to surface. Elua murmured to the empty room, save the half-asleep fox, her voice carrying the flat tone reserved for her most honest monts.
"Would it be like with Onya? That doesn’t feel like... enough. In ways that matter."
The letter montarily forgotten, she rose from the desk and moved to the bedroll. Her fingers traced the rip she’d made earlier. The damaged fabric was a physical manifestation of the control she’d lost... a silly temper she could never afford to lose against a future child.
"Was I this unstable before? I certainly destroyed a lot of things back then."
The fox had risen from its spot by the door and approached with cautious steps, settling just within arm’s reach. With a sigh, she gave it more pets
"I told her about defensive techniques. Made it sound like tactical wisdom. But that wasn’t the whole truth."
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