Blasphemous words bring tears to your eyes, and in a panic to stop them, you plant an aggressive string of smooches down the side of her face and only stop when you seal against her lips. Her verbal expression morphs into a distressed groan that scratches the back of your throat. There, she continues her confession, hooves pull on your neck and mess your hair as she sobs and sputters and unloads the weight of her heavy conscience directly into the pit of your stomach. She wasn’t just afraid of losing you. She was terrified that she didn’t deserve you.