Every wound will shape me...
The screams subside, and Nephele slowly opens her bloodshot eyes, praying more fervently to Vi than she ever has in her long life. Bring her back. Please, bring her back to me.
And there she is. Eyes clear for the first time in many suns and moons, hatred erased from her face. Nephele's arms come forth to catch her sister, feeling as though she is an ancient tree, roots buried deep and immovable. Whatever weight her sister carries, Nephele will bear it.
"Eri," is all she can sob, smiling until her cheeks hurt. Relief crashes over her in waves as her head is clasped and cradled, and she turns to press a kiss to her twin's palm, trusting these hands to never hurt her now that Eriadne's mind is clear. "It's okay, it's all gonna be okay now," she assures, knowing it's no answer. Doesn't Eriadne know that she would suffer any pain at her sister's hand if it meant curing her? "I-I've missed you so much," she expels on a hiccup, but nothing can stop her trembling smile.
How long? Is this a cure, or a temporary salve? Even now her scientific mind undermines her joy with the idea that this is not permanent. But why else would Vi have them plant the roses? "It's only temporary I think," wrenches itself miserably from her, hating to have to tell Eriadne this. "But Vi is curing it. It won't be long, I swear to you I'm going to fix this. Just stay with me, okay?" Desperation clings to her words in the same way her tears cling to her lashes, hazel eyes staring frantically at Eriadne. The Pit would not contain her sister normally, but with her wings out of commission, perhaps her twin would consent to being temporarily placed there. Neph knows she'd rather die than hurt any of their village, perhaps her pride will succumb to that threatening idea.
Every scar will build my throne
