Fractured
That he wished he’d never let the moon into his tides.
It had been so vivid. Detailed enough that, for a split second, she’d believed it, felt the horrible snap of something breaking inside her.
She sucked in a breath and held onto the memory of that break, examining it like a shard of glass.
Too sharp. Too complete.
Real pain didn’t feel like that. Real pain came with mess—contradiction, context, history. It never arrived so cleanly packaged.
“It showed me you,” she said, making herself speak before the silence let the lie settle. “Refusing my touch. Saying I made you weaker. It wanted me to believe it, even when my own magic disagreed.”
Sikat na Kabanata