Please help. Something doesn't fit(Writing related question)

[Wocalich]

First a disclaimer: the excerpt in this thread is from a future chapter of Psetha so if you're a reader, I'd suggest not reading it.

Not that that's out of the way, I can ask my question. I wrote the first chapter of Part II but it just didn't sit right with me. Would you please take a look at it and tell me what you think is wrong with it?

Excerpt from the chapter

BLEĞUAPTLE'S POV
My son wasn't alright.
He woke up in cold sweat and a scream in his throat night after night. He would refuse my comforting and go stay outside on his own for a while when it happened.
They wouldn't tell me what happened on the journey, despite my insisting on answers.
I didn't know what to do. I would beg the thas for their guidance but I couldn't trust them anymore.
So I worried.
I worried and worried and worried until one rainy fall night I couldn't take it anymore.
"Enough!" I yelled and my Blağo flinched, just about to leave the treehouse on his own once again.
He looked at me with wide eyes as I ranted about how I was his mother and he should depend on me when something bad happened to him. What was I supposed to do when he gave me nothing to work with?
I panted, my rant over, and Blağo lowered his head.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He looked older--like he was no longer a child--and that hurt.
I started crying. "I don't want you to apologize. I just want to know what happened to you. I want to help you. Don't you understand how it pains me to see you drained of any happiness?"
His lips trembled but then he shook his head. "I deserve it."
I gasped. "Blağo!"
He opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock on the door--it was Psetha.
"What do you want?" I asked, cross with him.
"I would like to talk to Blağo if that's alright."
"No, it isn't--"
"Yeah, okay," Blağo cut me, despite it being rude to cut your elder's speech. I just watched them as they left. My Blağo was a respectful child.
What had happened to him?
BLAĞO'S POV
Psetha took me to the lake.
It was a little chilly tonight and so I trembled involuntarily as the rain made us drenched in seconds where we sat on the wet grass.
Psetha looked at me from the corner of his eyes and showed me his palm. "Look here."
With a snap, fire came to life above his palm and I scooted closer to him, to the heat.
We sat like that for a while, with the magical fire warming us up despite the rain. Then Psetha opened his mouth and said, "Do you remember how I said I didn't remember my past?"
I looked up at him. "Yeah?"
Psetha caught my eyes and smiled faintly as he said, "I lied."
I blinked.
"Why did you lie?"
"Because," Psetha said as he moved the fire from one hand to the other. "I didn't want to remember any of it."
I frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."
Psetha smiled apologetically. "Oh, I think you do."
The heat suddenly wasn't enough as I remembered what I had done. "Did you...did you kill someone?"
Psetha turned his head to look at the fire in his hands. "I did."
I looked at the fire as well, unable to keep looking at the broken expression on his face. "Who was it?"
At first, he didn't answer. Then he said, "She was my aneşıphu, elder sister as I called her, and the previous Psetha."

Edit: Context: Blağo is a 12 years old child who is actually a snake. He joined a battle and is having nightmares about it. Bleğuaptle is his mother and is worried about him, though she doesn't know that he joined a battle. Psetha is a man-turned-god who came to the past and met Blağo.

[IndigoShirtProd]

What's the context? It's hard to discern what doesn't fit without a little more context.

[Wocalich]

Blağo is a 12 years old child who is actually a snake. He joined a battle and is having nightmares about it. Bleğuaptle is his mother and is worried about him, though she doesn't know that he joined a battle. Psetha is a man-turned-god who came to the past and met Blağo.

[Wocalich]

I think I'm not happy with the flow of the sentences.

[IndigoShirtProd]

I think the flow is stilted because everyone is speaking pretty similarly. Maybe because they all have a background that leads them to talk that way, but I don't believe a 12 year old is going to speak in the same way as his mother or a god, regardless of his status. Cut out a few words, change his vocabulary to be a bit more juvenile where you can. Instead of "I don't understand.", maybe he says "I don't get it." or some variation. Shorten some dialogue. Instead of "Who was it?", just have him say "Who?".

[Wocalich]

Okay, thank you.

[IndigoShirtProd]

You're welcome! Sorry it's not a lot. . .

[Wocalich]

No, I think you nailed it on the head don't worry

[rajillustration]

Most of this is clear and it has a unique sing-song style to it. There were a few places however, where I found myself retreading on what I already read because some phrases have multiple meanings. Mostly in the beginning before I got used to the narrator's voice.

It does give a very dreamlike air to it, which is cool, but in that second paragraph, "He would refuse my comforting" while a cool phrase, the "he would" feels like "something he would have done if I had tried." (me speaking as the narrator in this context) So like...did the comforting take place? Or did I decide not to comfort him because I didn't think he'd accept it?

That and "comforting" becomes a noun in this situation. It's grammatically fine to use the verb form of "comforting" in this context, but it's something I only see in poetry. So when I read it, I was like "my comforting what?" Like I got a little stuck there before I realized that it was being fancy.

Then saying "despite my insisting answers" is also grammatically correct, but it's a phrase we don't often use, and in this poetic arrangement, I read it as if "my answers are insisting" rather than "me insisting answers from my son."

And this is all minor stuff and real stylistic so I don't want to tell you what to do or anything, overall. This is a neat story. But, I would just make sure every sentence leads logically into the next and that the wording doesn't get so fancy that it ends up having multiple meanings that can detach me from the emotional beats of a pretty emotional scene.

[scribesunlimited]

Forgive us, we love to help writers.

--

My son wasn't alright.
Night after night, he's awaken in a cold sweat, with a scream in his throat. He would refuse my comfort, and instead go outside alone until he felt he could sleep again.
They wouldn't tell me what happened on the journey, despite my insistence to know the truth.
I didn't know what to do. I would beg the thas for their guidance but I couldn't trust them anymore.
So I worried.
I worried and worried and worried, until one rainy fall night I couldn't take it anymore.
"Enough!" I yelled and my Blağo flinched just as he was about to go to his treehouse.
He looked at me with wide eyes as I ranted about how I was his mother, and that he should depend on me when something bad happened to him. What was I supposed to do when he gave me nothing to work with?
I panted, my rant over, and Blağo lowered his head.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He looked older--like he was no longer a child--and that hurt.
I started crying. "I don't want you to apologize. I just want to know what happened to you. I want to help you. Don't you understand how it pains me to see you drained of any happiness?"
His lips trembled but then he shook his head. "I deserve it."
I gasped. "Blağo!"
He opened his mouth to say something when there was a knock on the door--it was Psetha.
"What do you want?" I asked, cross with him.
"I would like to talk to Blağo if that's alright."
"No, it isn't--"
"Yeah, okay," Blağo cut me off rudely, although he knew it was wrong. I just watched them as they left. My Blağo was always a respectful child.
What had happened to him?

BLAĞO'S POV
Psetha took me to the lake.
It was a little chilly that night. The rain drenched us in seconds and I trembled as we sat on the wet grass.
Psetha looked at me from the corner of his eyes and showed me his palm. "Look here."
With a snap, fire came to life above his palm and I scooted closer to him and the heat.
We sat like that for a while, with the magical fire warming us despite the rain. Then Psetha said, "Do you remember how I said I didn't remember my past?"
I looked up at him. "Yeah?"
Psetha smiled faintly. "I lied."
"Why did you lie?"
"Because," He moved the fire from one hand to the other. "I didn't want to remember any of it."
I frowned in confusion. "I don't understand."
He smiled apologetically. "Oh, I think you do."
The heat suddenly wasn't enough as I remembered what I had done. "Did you...did you kill someone?"
Psetha stared at the fire in his hands. "I did."
I looked at the fire as well, unable to keep looking at the broken expression on his face. "Who was it?"
At first, he didn't answer. Then he said, "She was my aneşıphu, elder sister as I called her, and the previous Psetha."

You might find this tighter and flowing better.

[gmaximin]

Just my own opinion, the confrontation at the beginning feels very cold, emotionless. Yes she ranted and yell, but it didn’t feel that way, cold description made it look very usual.
It gets better after, as we better feel the tension. Just my impression as an amateur reader...

[Wocalich]

You're right, I didn't like that part either now that I think carefully. Thanks