Anaisa's dreams plagued her, and she sought to change them. Her turmoil as she spent more and more time away from Trace was wearing on her.
And she hated it. She was strong, and enduring. Even without her husband, she should be able to function. To continue.
She opened her eyes slowly, casting off the despair of her nighttime visions. The emotional upheaval prevented her complete control over them, and she cursed her wounded heart.
Yes, she was hurt, and lonely. Why couldn't she be stronger than the pain?
Every day, so long as she was talking to the others, her facade of functionality was an easy mask to wear. After all, hadn't she been forged in the social fires of the capital? Pretending she was fine when she wasn't came almost as easily as breathing!
