So fucking sorry she didn’t get a chance to flourish. That I let her believe I hated her rather than myself. That she’ll probably never look at me without seeing the mutts that sealed her mother’s fate. That she’s about to be tethered to the face of her nightmares. Most of all, I’m sorry she’ll never understand why I couldn’t—can’t give her the choice she deserves. Not if I can avoid it. There’s no reality where I’ll freely offer her the weight of her fallen species. Of the entire world. There’s no reality where she wouldn’t allow herself to fall upon that blade. None.
