*Senya*
Sitting in the front parlor, I find myself surrounded by the well-meaning she-wolves of
the high packs who looks at me with unbridled sympathy and sorrow as though I am on the verge of following my husband into the grave.
I rather wish I had insisted on attending the funeral. The somber affair that includes morbid mutes in tall black silk hats has to be far jollier than being in the center of all these black-clad she-wolves who reminds me of ravens eyeing their prey. What they are awaiting is my tears, but I had released them all last night, sheltered within Aaron Tempest’s strong arms.
So in addition to my sadness, I am battling against incredible guilt because I had drawn such comfort from another man’s tenderness. Although I suspect Serdal would forgive me for that slight.
