Before this, accidents were suspicious.
If something went wrong,
someone must have meant it.
A door slammed.
A word landed badly.
A thing broke in a way that felt personal.
People searched for motive.
They looked at hands.
They looked at faces.
They asked why.
Pebble made this difficult.
Pebble did many things quickly.
Sometimes too quickly.
Sometimes all at once.
She turned corners without checking.
She changed direction without warning.
She arrived before anyone was ready.
Things happened around her that did not have time to decide what they were.
A spill.
A collision.
A moment that went wrong before it could choose a reason.
People started saying, “Pebble did it.”
Not angrily.
Not carefully.
Just to move on.
Pebble did not correct them.
She did not claim credit.
She did not slow down to clarify.
Mohg never argued either.
When something went wrong,
he did not ask who meant it.
He stayed with what had happened.
He sat near the spill.
Near the silence.
Near the pause where blame usually lived.
And slowly, the question changed.
If Pebble caused it,
then maybe no one meant it at all.
Accidents stopped looking like messages.
They stopped feeling pointed.
They became what they were.
Something that happened.
Something that could be cleaned.
Something that did not require a reason.
Pebble was already moving on.
Mohg stayed long enough
for everyone else to do the same.
Accidents were allowed to be accidents.
