I will never let you fall

Every wound will shape me...

The last rose is a weight on her hip that feels as if it's burning a brand into her skin. The urgency with which she flies from the Spire makes her spine ache and her cheeks sharply red with the speeds she forces herself to reach. There is no time to waste. Nephele is unsure if the idea she has in mind will come to fruition, but it is one she has to try.

If the roses could heal the earth, could they heal a Fae?

Her chest heaves when she finally makes it to the Village, wings slowing though her feet do not touch down as she searches for the shock of hair that signifies her twin. "Eri?" she cries nonetheless, nervous of the approaching encounter but sure of what she must do. Eriadne was a trained warrior, and Nephele stood no chance against her in a fight. But Nephele is wily, and above all else, desperate for a cure. Her sister is likely still but a shade of her former self, but she keeps one hand in her satchel on the rose stem nonetheless, ready to meet whatever Eriadne throws her way.

Every scar will build my throne