I will never let you fall

Every wound will shape me...

She is as stained and tainted as a soul could be, manic and consumed by the literal darkness that seeps from her pores. It haunts and hurts, to see the woman meant to be her perfect half fading into madness and obscurity. Eriadne's life hangs in the balance, and Nephele would sooner thrust a dagger through her heart on Mort's doorstep than let her sister's spark die. A world without Eriadne is not a world Nephele can live in.

So though her words are sharp, cutting, a cruelty she has never experienced from her beloved, she bears the lashing tongue with a tremulous breath and continues moving forward. Eri could crush her easily, but if she's to die by her sister's hand then that will be her end. Nephele could never hurt her. Not even with her own life on the line.

But she still moves swiftly, not giving Eri the chance to track down a weapon in the hovel of a home she has created. "I've come to try and cure you," she says firmly, though the shake of her hands betrays her. Nephele pulls the rose from her bag, terrified of it potentially being destroyed but unwilling to let this chance of healing her sister go. Surely Vi would understand? Knowing how the Blight and its victims seemed intent on stopping all planting progress, she flies swiftly from where she stands, getting as close to Eriadne in one moment as possible. Still concealing the rose by her hip, desperate to get in striking range.

Every scar will build my throne