The matriarch of the house was a great elf. She did everything right, except that one thing... Maybe it was willful ignorance from not wanting to believe the family would have such a despicable person in their midst, but she'd failed to notice the one black sheep in the family who could do anything they want just to feel powerful for a moment.
He had a long running little pet project of turning someone into a perfect servile friend to step on any time you like - constantly fearful that they might upset you, molding every idea and their malleable little personality around pleasing you. He had so many young elves wrapped around his fingers, among them May - and May only realized this in the most terrible of ways: slow, creeping realization, too long after he'd gotten out of their life, though small chilling revelations on inspecting memories previously thought of as normal and even happy.
So there was nobody May could yell at anymore. He was gone, not taking with him the resentment all of his followers had built up, some of whom aimed it at each other. That bitterness, the paradoxical coexistence of hate and adoration, had become a core part of May's personality and they simply won't be themself without it, anymore. One day they found the strength to love fiercely again and nothing's going to stop them from trying, trying again, trying to find someone to love them back and to find a way to love that's right.
May sees their matriarch as having failed horribly, and it's put a big dent on their trust in Ancestralism which hasn't had any reason to repair itself so far.
