Every wound will shape me...
There's nothing more to do than say goodbye.
Cupping her sister's face in her hands, knowing the shape and detail of her construction even in the dark, Nephele leans their foreheads together to try and draw the strength that abandoning her twin will take. "I love you, Eri," she whispers, the awful echo of the Pit giving her chills. Pulling away, her wings hum restlessly, ready to fly out and plant her last rose. It is the only phrase she can give her sister while she's still lucid. Hopefully it will give her strength when the Blight muddles her mind again.
Her hands linger uselessly on Eriadne's skin as her wings draw her from the bottom of the Pit. And when she reaches the top, pale light burning her eyes, she does not look back. Flies as quickly as she can for the Shore, because if she looks back she will join her sister in exile to ease the breaking of her own heart.
Every scar will build my throne