when the moon fell in love with the sun

Deathbelle may have blamed herself, but Iolaire held no blame for her at all. She blamed herself for not following her gut. Now look at them both. It was her fault that Belle was injured. The woman may not have cared about scars, but the larger wolf would most likely have them and Iolaire wasn't okay with that. Unnecessary injury. It could all have been avoided.

Io continued to tend to Belle's wounds. She inspected them again and again, her mind in a state of panicked fervor. She needed to make sure that Deathbelle was okay so that she could run away and never show her face again. Her mind in an overly dramatic state, Iolaire planned on crawling in a hole and dying. She was ugly now. Without her looks, she had nothing. Absolutely nothing. For the rest of her life, she would doubt the sincerity of others. They were just being nice because she was ugly. Poor girl.

She had to look up just a bit more than she was comfortable with to tend to the wounds on Belle's face. Her body began to shake slightly as she hurried to apply the mixture to the bites. The blood upon her own face was drying and beginning to itch a bit. She needed to go, but not until she finished. Belle thanked her and all Io could do was grunt in reply. She was terribly uncomfortable.