The weariness across her face was shared throughout Zevulun. His pale ears perked forward as she started to talk, and the weight in her tone made the cracks in his heart push even deeper. How long must we keep punishing ourselves, do you think? The answer was immediate in his mind, but his tongue stayed still. Forever.

He thought of every life he had abandoned when he became so self-obsessed with his misery. He thought of Ysabel standing on these very shores and confessing the truth of what had become of her mother, of her, all because she chose to love him and he left her. He thought of the nameless, faceless children he had who he had never met and never would. The unknown was almost worse than the knowing, because while he wanted to pretend that just maybe they’d be okay without him, he knew what it was like to grow up without a parent. He knew the holes that left, the ones that never could quite be filled right. Instead they were stuffed to the brim with moments like this, chasing things he shouldn’t grab and holding onto them so tightly because he was too weak to live without it.

Daire’s eyes opened to meet his and he wondered if, despite their differing colors, they were currently mirrors of one another. The pain he saw in her gaze he knew must be shining in his, because he could feel it all throughout the entirety of his body. As Daire spoke of loss, her voice so tightly aching that it shook, he closed his eyes tight to fight the sudden swell of tears that stung at the pink lines of his eyelids. Zevulun sucked back a sharp breath and reopened his eyes, the sheen of the tears he’d had yet to shed making them glisten.

He had lost too, and he was so tired of losing. Life seemed to have become one tragic loss after another, and Zevulun was tired of it.

“I don’t know how much more I can take either,” he admitted quietly into the cool night air between them. “I want…” He quieted himself only because his heart pounded in his throat and fear pressed back against what he was going to say. It was one thing to think it, but to give it a voice? To speak it into the world, to the ears of the one it concerned? Zevulun was already too far gone, though. He was tired and drained and rather than doing what he should and seeking the comfort of those he already loved, he confessed more to Daire that he should keep to him. “I want to give you the peace you deserve, Daire,” he confessed with a whisper, “and I want to find my own peace with you, even if neither of us really deserve it…” Who was to say if they did or they didn’t? They could only struggle for so long; could only be strong for so long.

“I don’t want you to lose anything any more, I want you to gain everything... I just wish I could be the one able to do it.” Selfish as the thought was, it was true. “But I know, Daire, I know I can’t… I know we can’t… but I care for you, deeply,” the emotions welled up inside him as he said it, practically taking his voice for a moment so he had to draw a breath before he continued, “And I love Vervain, and I love Lir, and even if I should regret it, even if I should hate myself for continuing to tease whatever feelings I felt for you…I can’t, Daire.” He sighed and shook his head as he looked at her. “I just can’t. I am always going to feel this way toward you, no matter how much I shouldn’t.”