I will never let you fall

Every wound will shape me...

Her sister's squinted gaze peers out into the outside world, and Nephele is there at her side, hands still clasped together, ready to take it on at her side. It was never supposed to be this way. If any were to have fallen sick, it should have been Neph. But even now Eriadne is the strong one, the rock, leading Nephele out of the shadows of the tree and into the light. Then her sister's eyes turn towards her, and Nephele squeezes her hand and smiles, a reflection of the tidal wave of relief and love welling up inside her.

They move through their village like this, hands locked together as if terrified of the impending separation that each step heralds closer. Walking feels as strange to Nephele as it surely does for Eriadne, but part of her relishes this prolonged moment they share. She's sure this is only a temporary moment of clarity for Eri, and she is unsure the exact timeline of how quickly the roses will begin working their magic on the Blight. Every second is treasured, and when they come to the Pit, she stares down into its shadowed depths with trembling lips and short, shuddering breaths.

She can't possibly leave Eri here. She can't. She can't.

She must.

"As soon as I plant the last rose I'll be right here," she vows, unable to keep up the teasing pretense that normally shadowed their interactions. Nephele's wings begin to beat, prepared to help guide her sister down into the Pit, to bear her weight and slow her descent. She may leave in time, but Nephele will go down with her, into the darkness. If only for a moment.

Every scar will build my throne