She couldnt cry forever. Eventually her keening wails died down, her throat scratched raw by the way she screamed his name again and again, and the tears stopped flowing. She had none left.
He had told her she was strong.
He was wrong.
And yet, she managed to stand again, though her legs still shook, and she even took the first step on bare feet cut up by the hard ground, then another and another. All she did was cry, she realised. All she had ever done, the only reaction she had been able to muster for the cruelties inflicted upon her, had been to cry. She couldnt do this on her own, couldnt he see that? If only the fall from the tower had killed her, she would have considered it a mercy. Freedom from her husband and freedom from this grief what more did she want?
He was meant to save me, she thought brokenly. He wasnt supposed to die. The little mod Verellus had given her dug into her palm. It was a poor substitute for him, as far as salva