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.... One big nightmare, it was an accurate way to describe the past few weeks. The attack on Slay, Ril’o’s death. Cercelee too had felt like she had been walking about in a dream, a terrifying dream in which she knew she was sleeping but couldn’t wake herself. Gasping for air was a common feeling, no matter how deep of a breath she took. Lying to Catalyst was not an option but neither was admitting her utter weakness these past few weeks. As a mother and as the Rosea she found strength from somewhere to put on a brave face, but as an individual, as Cercelee, she was beat. "I haven’t been great Catalyst, but things will get better.”
.... Whether things really would get better or they would simply survive and keeping pushing through Cercelee couldn’t say, but it was really the same thing. They would continue to exist for as long as the world permitted them to and they would do the best they could in the meantime. Nuzzling her small ward fondly, Cercelee sighed heavily, breathing in the scent of the child. "What could I do better? Do you feel safe here? In this church with Slay and I, I mean? Are you guys happy here?” Catharsis had left, was it really because the young girl had such an ambitious dream and calling, or had Cercelee failed the children on some level? The fear of harming them in any way was constantly hanging over her head.
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