Verita was still hunched over one of the book covered wooden tables in her chambers when Roche awoke. The librarian uncurled with a low groan, her old back popping loudly like she'd been in that position for hours.

"Did you get any sleep?" Roche asked, feeling worried when Verita's expression darkened. The librarian took her glasses off and sighed.

"None," she admitted quietly, "I've been here all night and I haven't found anything about regular illnesses that turn people to stone."

Roche made her way over to their stove, lighting the wood with a flicker of inkblood. She cracked some eggs in a pan, hoping she could give Verita a good breakfast before she left.

"Do you think it's inkblood related?" she asked, her mind straying to the Council. It had been ages since they'd tried any major attacks against Tigris. This seemed like the perfect move against her.

Verita rubbed her face tiredly, squinting at another text from between her fingers. "It certainly seems that way. But I haven't heard of any incantation that can turn people to stone."
"There's definitely nothing like that in the book you gave me," Roche replied, sliding the seasoned eggs off the pan. It was a luxurious breakfast, but Verita needed it after the long night. The librarian nodded gratefully at her ward as she tucked into the plate. Roche carried her breakfast in one hand, her stomach growling. Last night, she'd given the stolen bits of Tigris' dinner to Medea before the alarm bells went off and she had to go see the stone victims. She still hadn't gotten much of a chance to get to know the woman well, and she looked forward to it.

She hadn't met many inkbloods who hadn't been trying to murder Tigris. The timid, quiet, steely woman was a pleasant change from the magnanimous inkbloods on the Council.

"Where are you off to so early?" Verita asked. Roche cringed, hovering in the doorway. She'd been hoping that the librarian wouldn't notice that she was earlier than usual.

"Tigris has some extra laundry that I didn't get to do last night," she lied, holding up her breakfast, "I'll eat as I go."

Verita pressed her lips together disapprovingly. Roche turned before her guardian could see the lie written on her face.

"Very well," Verita replied to Roche's turned back, "Come back soon. I need your help finding this threat to Tigris."

Roche promised she'd return quickly and darted out of the library, towards the hidden hall she'd stowed Medea.

-------

Medea was curled up in a small ball in the corner of the darkened tunnel. It was pitch black. The light incantation Roche had summoned the night before was nothing more than a glowing speck now. She fed her inkblood into it, making it swell before she neared the sleeping woman. Her foot caught on a jagged stone and she fell forwards, barely managing to keep the breakfast from falling to the ground.

Medea awoke at the sound of the commotion, her eyes flaring wide as she shot upright. Roche felt the woman's inkblood stirring a moment before a concussive wave blew towards her.

"Skuedo!" Roche summoned a shield quickly, holding it over the breakfast plate as her body went flying, smacking into the opposite wall. Her breath left her in a rush.

Medea had climbed to her feet, her eyes wide with horror. The woman pressed herself against the wall, her breaths coming out in quick gasps.

"It's just me!" Roche croaked, probably a moment too late. She hacked, trying to regain her breath, pointing towards the intact plate of steaming food on the ground. "I brought breakfast!"

Medea didn't fully relax, but she stopped pressing herself against the wall from Roche. Her entrancing blue-grey eyes were no longer glazed with fear. She nodded stiffly, sinking back towards the ground, hugging her light tawny arms close to her chest.

"I'm sorry," Medea whispered softly. Roche picked herself off the ground, moving a bit slower this time.

"Don't worry about it," she assured the woman, nudging the plate closer, "The food's still good, that's all that matters."

Medea's eyes fastened on the plate hungrily. She reached out, nibbling on some of the bread.

"Thank you," she murmured, "For this and yesterday."

Roche waved off the thanks. "It's nothing."

Medea tilted her head thoughtfully, tearing off another piece of bread to chew. Roche had never met someone quieter than herself. Medea's quiet was more contemplative, less awkward than Roche's usual lapses in conversation. The woman reminded her of a cool, still lake, steady and unbending.

"Have you eaten?" Medea asked after a long moment, hesitant. Roche nodded politely, but her stomach growled loudly, revealing the lie in her statement. Medea's eyes widened. "This is your breakfast, isn't it?"

"It's fine. I always steal from the princess' plate anyways." she said with a mischievous smile. Medea pressed the plate forward, her long, dark strands of hair falling over her high cheekbones muttered with freckles.

"Eat," the woman said quietly, "Please. There's enough for the both of us."

Roche didn't point out that the serving was for one person. She feared how little Medea had been eating if she thought there was enough for both of them on that plate. To placate her, Roche took a small bite of the bread, which seemed to make Medea ease up a bit. She crossed her legs, sitting next to her as the woman began to eat in earnest.

"So, I was thinking that we could sneak you home tonight, if you're ready," Roche explained, "I figured that your family might be worried about you."

Medea stiffened, lacing her hands over her lap. "I don't have any family left," she murmured, eyes downcast.

Roche felt out of her depth. "I'm sorry," she replied softly, "Where were you staying before that awful man came along?"

Medea fiddled with the hem of her torn and stained dress. "I stayed with the covens for a while but... that was a long time ago," she lifted her eyes to Roche, and they were hard and steely, "It's just me now."

"Perhaps the covens could hide you again for a while once you get out of here. Just until the king stops looking." Roche suggested, trying to form a plan. Medea's lips pressed together.

"I can't go back to them," she said.

Roche furrowed her brows. "Was your coven found by bandits too?" she asked, thinking of Orpheus and Tarak.

Medea's eyes sharpened. "I'd rather not talk about it." she said stiffly.

Her tone brooked no room for prodding. Roche wasn't sure what to say. Medea curled back up on herself. Roche noticed her wrists were still bloodied.

"Here," she said quietly, holding out her hands, "I can help with that."

Medea's eyes were distrustful, but she winced as the thin fabric of her gauzy gown brushed against the wounds. She reluctantly held out her hands, and Roche cradled them gently, careful not to agitate the angry, red wounds.

"Llanosus krun tirrigo." she murmured, inkblood burning against her lips. Medea watched with quiet fascination as her skin began to knit together, leaving nothing but faint stains of blood.

Roche watched her face carefully. "Does it still hurt?" she asked.

Medea shook her head mutely, staring at her wrists in awe. "Not at all." she looked up, "Your inkblood... it's strong."

Roche blushed at the incredulity in the woman's voice. She shrugged, warm heat flaring where their hands connected. She noticed a tear in Medea's sleeve, turning the woman's hand gently.

"I can fix tha..." her voice trailed off. The tear revealed Medea's wrists and the skin of her forearms. Inkblood pooled within the woman's arms in deep, oblong pools, visible through the skin. It was so unlike the careful designs carved into the skin of the Council members that Roche blanched in surprise. The inkblood rolled and shifted as Medea pulled her hand away, her cheeks colouring.

"I'm sorry," the woman murmured again, "I know it looks awful. It just appeared one day and it won't stay away." Her voice was terribly small.

Roche's tongue unstuck from the roof of her mouth. "Why on earth are you sorry?"

"Most people fear it," Medea whispered, her voice hollow and empty. She traced the dark blobs beneath her skin with a detached kind of precision. "The way I got it is unnatural."

"More unnatural than injecting it into your skin?" Roche asked dryly. At Medea's shocked expression, she added, "I understand. I didn't ask for mine either."

Medea's eyes lit up for a moment before dimming, like she had to restrain her joy. She pressed her head against the wall, tilting her gaze up towards Roche's ball of light.

"Mine isn't like yours. It's not powerful or strong or anything really. It's just... there. And it's messed up my life. My inkblood is nothing but ugly." her voice was blank, like the words were a fact. Yet Roche could feel the inkblood radiating outwards from the woman's veins.

"It's beautiful," Roche murmured reverently before she could stop herself. Medea's gaze whipped towards her, and Roche felt heat scalding her cheeks when she realised she'd said the words aloud. She didn't take them back though, they were the truth. "I felt it yesterday when you called my light towards you. Your inkblood is so calm, so placid."

"So useless," Medea remarked with distaste.

"No," Roche disagreed, "It's just... peaceful. Like a lake. A still, quiet lake you can look at forever. I've never felt anything like that before."

Medea leaned back, her swirling eyes scrutinizing Roche. After a moment, she asked, "You really think that?"

Roche felt a swell of warmth and nodded. She cast her inkblood out, making it shimmer a soft gold. It looped around Medea's arm, tracing the outline of the inkblood to draw a scene of ink. They watched Roche's inkblood swirl, forming a large tree.

Roche's cheeks burned. "That... was supposed to be a lake. Sorry."

To her surprise, Medea laughed, eyes glistening as she gazed at the little image inked on her skin. "I've always preferred trees to lakes anyway." she answered, hints of warmth leaking into her voice.

Roche leaned forward eagerly, her knees narrowly missing the now empty plate. "Have you seen the tree at the edge of the castle gates? It has the most unique carving that dates back three hundred years! There were two lovers who sat there once..."

Roche couldn't stop herself. It had been so long since she'd met someone other than Finn who had a passion for words and history. Medea was a good listener. She leaned against the wall with an intrigued expression, listening patiently to Roche as she recounted the history of the trees, the soil, and the seas around the castle. When Roche's throat began to ache, Medea finally spoke.

"I was locked in a bounty hunter's cart when I first got here, so no, I haven't seen it."

Roche's cheeks burned. She pressed her hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh! I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Medea's lips twisted with a smile at her stammering. Roche realised then, that the woman had been teasing her. Medea laughed as the realisation painted itself across Roche's face, a tinkling sound that filled the air and made Roche's heart flutter in her chest like a trapped butterfly. Her face seemed to transform with the laughter, softening and warming.

Roche quietly resolved to give Medea more reasons to laugh like that.

The moment ended too quickly, and Roche already missed the sweet sound of her joy. Medea's smile faded.

"Perhaps one day, I'll see the tree you're talking about." she mused aloud, staring longingly at the scene Roche's inkblood had painted. She traced it with one finger. Roche's heart ached for her, for the pain on her face.

"You will," she said firmly. Medea's eyes dragged up to Roche's face with a curious look as Roche added, "You'll see at lunch."

Medea smiled, a small, fierce thing. "You're coming back?"

"Of course I am," Roche replied, hoisting the plate in her hand, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Medea's lips trembled for a moment, words perched upon them that she swallowed. She looked down at her healed wrists, throat bobbing. There was something fragile in her face that made Roche's chest stir with emotion.

"I'll come back, Medea. I promise."

The ever so tentative joy that emerged on the woman's face lifted Roche's spirits to the sky.

-------

Roche's mind lingered on the image of Medea's shy wonder as she drifted through the day. There was something so tender between them, the shared understanding of a gift received that they'd never asked for. Roche was eager to return to the hidden inkblood and so she rushed through her chores.

The effort did not go unnoticed.

"Watch it!" Tigris snapped as Roche nearly spilled an entire goblet of rich wine over the princess' clothes in her haste to serve lunch.

Roche winced, righting the goblet before it could fall. "Sorry, my lady."

Tigris scowled at her. "You're clumsier than usual today. What's the rush?"

Roche kept her face carefully neutral. She eyed the untouched parts of the princess' lunch, a plan forming in her mind for Medea's lunch.

"Verita's still looking for the cause of that weird illness and needs help," Roche explained, setting down the pitcher of wine precariously close to the edge of the table.

Tigris hummed, her face darkening. She speared a piece of chicken viciously. "Is she getting closer, at least?"

"I think so. She's ruled out non-inkblood related illnesses," Roche explained, edging closer.

"I think Finn might have checked out a book about it. He said the illness seemed familiar to him, for some reason." Tigris replied, chewing thoughtfully. Roche quickly hid the fear that crept through her.

Had Finn seen this inkblood illness in his visions? Roche's chest tightened at the thought.

"I'll take a look at his check out history. Perhaps he's read the book we need." Roche said after a moment to placate Tigris. She coiled her muscles.

If she didn't act now, Tigris would eat the rest of her lunch before Roche could nab any.

Sorry, princess. Roche thought silently as she raised her brows at Tigris.

"More wine?"

Tigris raised her half empty glass. Roche moved forward too quickly, and the contents spilled all over Tigris' lap.

The princess jumped up with a small shriek as the sticky substance drizzled over her lap.

"You utter idiot!" Tigris exclaimed. Roche widened her eyes in mock horror.

"Sorry, my lady. Let me help!"

Roche lunged forward with napkins, ready to dab up the mess. Tigris shoved her away, face flushed with irritation.

"This gown is one of my good ones!"

"I'll wash it," Roche promised, "Perhaps you should change in the meantime."

Tigris scowled at her, stalking into her closet. While she was gone, Roche dumped the rest of the pitcher out onto the ground, washing the vessel clean with a bit of inkblood. Tigris growled in frustration from the closet, and Roche hurriedly scooped a few of the remaining bits of food of the princess' plate into the pitcher. Two chicken legs, roasted potatoes, some steamed vegetables and decadent bread with bacon.

"I need your help with the back of this!" Tigris shouted, emerging from the closet. Roche hid her flinch, gathering Tigris' empty plate into her arms.

The princess raised her brow at Roche.

"Put that down, I'm not finished with that."

Roche blinked at her blankly, hiding any trace amusement from her face. "Yes you are. Look, the plate's empty."

Tigris stalked forward, her eyes narrowing at the empty plate.

"Did you eat my lunch? Again?"

"What? No, I would never!" Roche insisted innocently, "Do you really think I could eat that fast?"

"I don't know, Roche. Then where the hell did my lunch go?"

Tigris stared at her.

Roche stared back.

After several moments, Tigris groaned, turning away.

"Just... get this mess cleaned up, would you? And don't come back until you have some control of your gangly little limbs." Tigris ordered, arching her arms as she tried to fix her gown. THe princess glanced over her shoulder, "Help me with this gown before you g-"

Roche was already out of the door, pitcher clutched tightly to her chest. She closed the princess' door and hurried down the hall before she could hear Tigris' frustrated sigh.

-------

The lunch had been decadent and filling. Roche sighed with relish, lying back on the floor with a full stomach curving away from her. She lay upside down next to Medea, who was similarly stuffed. They laid next to each other, feet pointing in opposite directions and heads near each other. Roche stretched an arm over her head, trying not to notice how close their fingers were. A warm flush of heat pressed through her.

"I told you I'd show you a tree," she said into the peaceful silence.

Medea rolled onto her side, eyes twinkling. The woman looked happier and healthier after the filling meal. From her languid pose, Roche could tell she was finally beginning to feel safe and at ease.

"You did," Medea's voice was musical with curiosity, lilted slightly. Her dark locks fell over her shoulder, pooling across her chest, "I'm not sure if it's safe for me to be outside yet."

"It's not," Roche replied, one hand stretching for her satchel. She rummaged through it until her fingers brushed against something papery and damp. She pulled out the object, watching Medea's smile grow soft. "Ta da!"

"A leaf!" Medea said enthusiastically. She reached out, cradling in her palms with nimble fingers. At the contact, Roche felt the woman's inkblood stir, moving to pool in her hands.

"That's right. It's a special leaf, though. It's from that tree I was talking about."

"The lover's tree," Medea breathed. Her inkblood squeezed through her fingertips, curling around the leaf almost tenderly. Roche watched in awe as the leaf began to shift in Medea's palm, the stem twisting and shooting out with roots while the papery lamina split into mini stalks and leaves. In moments, Medea had a small sapling in her hands.

She blushed, dropping it as Roche stared in fascination.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." Medea whispered, "It was so beautiful."

Roche couldn't believe the words coming out of the woman's mouth. "Are you kidding? I was going to show off that trick and try to look cool doing that. You did that without any effort, that's incredible!"

Medea's cheeks reddened further. She placed her hands in her lap, staring at her palms, blackened by pooling inkblood. "My inkblood did it, not I." she murmured bitterly.

Roche gaped at her. "Inkblood feeds on the user's will and strength. To do such a transformation intuitively, you must have wanted that tree to some extent."

Medea cast her eyes away. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your gift."

"You misunderstand me," Roche replied hurriedly, hating the sadness in Medea's voice, "I think you're incredible. You really don't have any idea how awesome you are, do you?"

Silence stretched between them as Medea lifted her eyes hesitantly, meeting Roche's. Roche shivered at the intensity of the woman's stare, so earnest and deep. A tingle raced through her, making her skin feel almost electric.

"You actually like inkblood. My inkblood, even." Medea murmured.

"What's there not to like?" Roche asked, gently cupping the fallen sapling in her hands. The thing was so small, brimming with Medea's steady, strong inkblood. Roche couldn't help but add to it. Their power combined, and the sapling grew just a bit taller, the tips turning a beautiful white, speckled with dots of gold.

Roche held it up triumphantly, and Medea smiled softly. It wasn't the usual, patient smile Roche got from others around the castle, like her enthusiasm was a child's to be placated.

Medea's smile was genuine, a shared joy. It made Roche's chest squeeze. Someone finally saw her.

The true her.

Her with inkblood.

"Inkblood... it's just so beautiful." Roche said into the silence. The words flowed out of her rhythmically, "It's anyone's dream. Who doesn't love what connects us all?"

Medea leaned back, lying back on the ground. "Inkblood doesn't connect us all. Just those of us that have it."

"No, it really does connect everyone. Inkblood is the stuff of language. We all communicate in some way and language... it's the one thing we really have innately. Even when there is nothing one can physically possess, they will have their words."

"And that's enough for someone to have?" Medea asked quietly.

Roche smiled. "It's more than enough. It's everything. Wars have been fought over the words of a few, and peace has been wrought with more and with less. A word can destroy and create. Language is eternal. Having inkblood lets us show just how powerful and moving anyone can be, so long as we are willing to use our words."

The light incantation was beginning to dim into a deep, passionate red. Roche lifted her hand to incant the enchantment again, but gentle fingers around her wrist stopped her.

Medea peered up at her from her place on the ground. Her eyes were wet and shining, her delicate throat bobbing with a smile.

"May I?"

Roche thought her face would split in two with the force of her smile. She nodded, and Medea sucked in a breath.

"G-gwylluxi."

Nothing happened. Medea sat up, staring at her palms, perplexed. Roche scooted closer, gently pressing herself against the inkblood's side. She placed the sapling on her lap, toying with its roots.

"Try again. Listen to what your inkblood wants you to do. It'll guide you, through various sensations."

Medea nodded, dragging in a slow breath.

"Gwylluxi astreio."

Silvery blue light, the same stony shade as Medea's eyes, pooled in her palms. It glowed ethereally, bits of it flaking off like snowflakes. Roche watched, a gasp of awe locked in her mouth, as the flecks of light drifted up to the roof of the tunnel. The lights hovered there, dancing and pulsing like a starry night.

"Good gods," Roche found herself breathing. She stared for so long that her eyes burned with tears, "Medea... it's..."

There were no words to describe the beauty of the scene. Roche finally managed to tear her eyes away to find Medea turning her head towards Roche, cheeks flushed with elatement and wonder. The sight warmed Roche's chest like a fire on a cold winter day. The inkblood reached up, ink stained fingers stretching towards the stars she'd made.

"It's... beautiful." Medea whispered hoarsely.

The pale sapling on Roche's lap bloomed into a gleaming, speckled white flower.

Roche felt like she could still see the stars as she crawled out of the tunnel hours later. Medea's sweet joy clung to her like a new perfume that she was content to inhale forever.

-------

"Have you tried this one?"

"Yes, return it to the third shelf on the second floor."

Roche stood from the bench, her back cracking as she did so. She hefted a stack of books into the crook of her arm, glancing at Verita as she did so.

"Is there anything else you want me to pick up while I'm out there?" she asked, hovering in the doorway. Verita paused from her tireless reading, pulling off her glasses. The haggard librarian rubbed her reddened eyes, the skin of her forehead wrinkling further.

"Could you bring me the Book of Folk Tales by Glenn Howsely from the third floor? As well as Historical Circulatory Ink Ailments from the second floor? Oh, and the general bestiary from the first floor, shelf twenty." Verita rattled off.

"The bestiary?" Roche repeated, furrowing her brows, "You think a beast might be responsible for this?"

"Perhaps," Verita tapped her chin, leaning back down to flip the page of an ancient, falling apart book, "The knight was heavily injured when he was petrified, and the wounds looked like he'd been mauled by some creature. Perhaps the creature was also responsible for the petrification."

That made sense. Roche tilted her head. "Maybe we should have started there?"

Verita huffed out an annoyed breath. "I did. Two hours ago. I'd still like to review the bestiary again in case I missed anything."

"I could bring you some of the more specific bestiaries as well... and maybe some dinner?" Roche added. Verita hadn't slept in ages, and it was beginning to show in the librarian's temper. All Roche could hope to do was keep her well fed.

Verita nodded gratefully, her irritated eyes softening a bit. "Thank you,"

Roche ducked out into the library, hurrying to grab the required books when a loud pounding occurred on the main doors to the library. The sound was so jarring that Roche actually jolted, nearly dropping all of her books.

Verita stalked out of her chambers with an irked look, glancing at Roche questioningly. When she shrugged, the librarian opened the doors with a raised brow.

"Sorry to interrupt you, Verita," Aodh's voice filtered through the air, shattering the stillness of the library, "We need to search your chambers and the library for that inkblood that went missing yesterday. Draven insisted."

Verita nodded gravely, opening the door. "Please make it quick, Prince Aodh. And don't touch anything you don't have to, please. And no running. And-"

"We're all well aware of the library rules, Verita." Aodh interrupted. Roche crept closer and saw that the prince's face had softened with amusement.

Verita scowled at him. "Don't you remember what happened the time I left you here when you were a boy? Five shelves of historical knowledge were destroyed that day and I-"

"Guards," Aodh interrupted Verita's tangent, his brow pinched like he regretted saying anything, "Do as Verita says. Be careful, please."

Verita looked smug as the knights nodded obediently and filed into the room. Aodh noticed Roche immediately and narrowed his eyes. With an embarrassed huff, he turned away, shouting orders at the guards.

Verita came to stand beside Roche, watching the guards carefully wade through the library, peering at every shelf like an inkblood might be behind it.

"You don't know anything about where the inkblood might be, do you?" Verita asked quietly.

Roche froze, careful to keep her face blank. "No, of course not." She knew, instinctively, that Verita would not approve of her aiding yet another inkblood out of imprisonment. She couldn't reveal Medea to her yet.

Verita's hawkish gaze focused. "Not even a clue?" she pressed.

Roche shook her head. "I've got nothing. I hope she got far away from here, though."

Verita stared at Roche, unimpressed. She opened her mouth to say something else when Aodh returned, sparing Roche a scowl before he told Verita that she could continue with her work. Roche used the opportunity to rush out of the library before another interrogation could begin, eager to get Verita and Medea's dinners.

-------

"Where do you think you'd go if you didn't have to stay in the city?" Medea asked. They both were on their backs, lying next to each other as they gazed at their makeshift stars. Roche tilted her head back to the woman next to her, her thoughts buzzing pleasantly.

"I'm not really sure," Roche admitted, "Before I came here, I used to live in a village. But I wasn't well liked. The city is the first place where I even made a few friends and met people who tolerated me."

Medea turned her head away from the stars, huffing out a small laugh. "Who wouldn't like you, Roche?"

The words made Roche chuckle, her heart swelling slightly. "I could list a few people."

Medea hummed, a short, sweet sound. "Well, they're fools. You're a wonderful person with an even sweeter heart."

"You're going to make me blush," Roche said, and Medea laughed. Roche gazed deeply into those marbled eyes, the same shade as the stars above their heads. "What about you? Where would you go?"

Medea's eyes drifted shut, like she was reliving a memory. Her lips trembled with a delicate breath. "I've been to many places. There's not many I'd like to revisit."

"Surely there must be somewhere. Some land overseas, or maybe a palace in the skies, if it existed."

Medea's lips twitched. Her eyes stayed closed, but her face relaxed. "Well... before I had to run, my family and I lived near some woods, a bit smaller than the forest around the castle. The ground was springy with moss, and the trees were tall and smelled fresh and sharp." her lips twisted ruefully, "My brother and I would play there for hours, coming out smelling like mud and pine and ash wood. Sometimes my mother and father would join us, and we'd have a picnic by this large tree in the centre of the woods. At night, there'd be little fireflies that we'd watch until we fell asleep."

Roche listened to the rhythmic lull of Medea's voice, the sound of a fond memory. "It sounds amazing."

"It was," Medea's eyes cracked open. Roche was unsurprised but heartbroken at the tears that welled in them. Medea swiped them away quickly, "I suppose I'd return there, or to a small little grove of the like, if I could go anywhere. I'd live my days out among the trees."

She waved her hand and the stars rearranged themselves into a dizzying array of new patterns. Roche leaned back to watch, her eyes drifting shut as she saw a constellation form of a bird, then a pine tree, then an oak tree, then a small fiery bug.

"You look tired," Medea said, almost tentatively. Roche hadn't realised she was drifting off until the fingers brushed against her cheek. She cracked open her bleary eyes, sleepily blinking at Medea. The woman smiled back at her. "You should get some rest."

"Can't," Roche mumbled sleepily through a yawn, "I have to help Verita tonight. By the time I get to bed, I'll be exhausted enough that I won't be able to sleep." She stretched, awakening slightly. Medea retracted her hand, smiling.

"Ah, you have trouble sleeping too?"

"All the time. Verita says it's because I stay awake reading. The words keep my mind awake." Roche confessed.

"Perhaps you don't have the right words," Medea suggested. Roche rolled onto her side, their faces inches apart. She raised a brow.

"If you're offering to knock me out..."

"Oh, nothing of the sort!" Medea gasped, a smile tugging at her lips, "I used to be a restless sleeper too. I came across this poem though. Not really a full poem, I suppose, but a piece of one. I'd read it over and over until I fell asleep. For a while, it let me sleep."

"Can I hear it?" Roche asked.

Medea leaned forward, eyes intent and crackling with starlight.

"A tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep

Turns again home."

The stars above them shifted into a new pattern. Roche leaned her head back, the words settling over her like a warm blanket.

"What does it mean?" she asked. Medea shrugged, resting her chin on her fist.

"I'm not sure. But something about it always makes me tired."

Roche yawned, blinking sleepily. "It's funny that you like the earth so much. You have the soul of the sea. You even like poetry about it."

Medea leaned forward, her nimble fingers tucking back a stray strand of Roche's hair. Heat trailed her touch, making Roche shiver. A strange throbbing began at the base of her stomach, and Roche's breath skipped.

"You remind me," Roche murmured, leaning into the touch, eyes closed, "Of an old Irulian saying my mother used to tell me when I was a child. Mekhla heest icha voya svana."

"What does it mean?" Medea breathed. Roche cracked open her eyes, finding Medea leaning even closer, eyes practically glowing with curiosity.

"Seaglass wants to be crystal." Roche leaned up onto her forearms, "Though, only seaglass will touch both the land and sea. But we will want to be what we aren't, and we will be what we think we're not meant to be. But both are beautiful. Both shine bright."

They were so close now, their noses nearly touching. The stars glowed, casting Medea in soft silvery light that revealed her dilated eyes. The woman's tawny cheeks flushed, her full lips parting. She dragged her tongue across them, and Roche felt a throbbing deep within her.

Medea was staring back at her, open longing in her gaze.

Roche reached up, slowly, her palm cupping Medea's sharp jawline. The inkblood's breath shuddered, and she leaned into the touch. Her beautiful eyes fluttered shut.

"Roche..." Medea trailed off, her words ever so soft and longing.

Roche pressed closer, the throaty press of her desire demanding the touch of skin. She paused a hairbreadth away from Medea's soft lips. She smelled of salty sea air, clear of smoke.

"Medea... may I kiss you?" Roche asked, the words coming out ragged between her needy breaths.

Medea's pulse rabbitted under her palms. The woman tilted her head up, a soft gasp leaving her. Her eyes opened, and for a moment, Roche saw a swell of searing desire reflected back at her.

Then the second passed, and Medea was pulling away.

"I'm sorry," Medea murmured. Roche's heart dropped.

She leaned back, cheeks flooding with heat. She swallowed down her embarrassment and disappointment, placing a fake feeling smile on her lips as her chest grew tight.

"Don't be," she assured the woman.

Medea's eyes, much to Roche's horror, filled with tears. "You've been so kind to me."

"You don't owe me a thing." Roche said, feeling guilty that she'd brought such distress. She edged back, letting the air between them cool. "This doesn't change anything. You're safe here, and you can stay as long as you need. I promise."

Medea bowed her head, sniffling. "You misunderstand me. You deserve so much better, Roche. You can't be with someone like me."

"Someone like you is perfect, Medea," Roche said softly, swallowing the painful edge of rejection, opting to cup the woman's hands. "You're just perfect. You and your inkblood, all of you is perfect and special and wonderful. I understand if you're not ready to share that with anyone else yet."

Medea squeezed her eyes shut, tears trickling down her cheeks like the words pained her more. Roche felt helpless in a way she had never experienced before. After a few moments, Medea shook her head, pulling her hands away to swipe at her cheeks.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be..." Medea huffed thickly. Roche chewed her lip, leaning back.

"Take some time. Relax. I'll be back in the morning with breakfast and we can pretend this never happened, alright?" Roche said after a moment.

Medea nodded, not meeting Roche's eyes. Roche felt a keen sense of loss as she stood, sweating as she realised she might have just ruined a perfectly good friendship with the one other inkblood around.

She backed away towards the tunnel exit.

"Roche?"

Roche turned, finding Medea staring up at the stars. Her eyes were filled with tears again.

"Any woman would be lucky to have you. You know that, right? This... it isn't about you."

Roche swallowed. "Likewise, Medea."

Silence stretched between them. Roche left quietly, pretending she didn't hear the sound of Medea's shuddering sobs.

A/N: God, this chapter was one of the longest and hardest to write. This arc is so similar to that one episode of Merlin that I won't even try denying it 💀 I seriously took so much inspo from that episode because of everything it made me feel. 

That said, I hope that I added my own spin on the tale. I really wanted to showcase why Roche fell for Medea in a way that she hadn't for anyone else. In short, it's because she's lonely. No one around her sees her fully except Finn, and that man has an uncertain destiny that makes him difficult to trust. Meanwhile, Medea knows Roche's deepest secret and still wants to be around her.

I also hope that Medea's character felt different from what one would expect. I won't elaborate for now, but hopefully the differences will become more clear as the chapters progress.

I'd love any feedback that can be given for this chapter. This is my first time writing romance of any kind so I'd love any criticism. Be harsh with me :D

Also, in case anyone is wondering, that poem verse is from an actual poem! I'll give a virtual cookie to anyone who knows which poem it's from :)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, everyone! As always, happy reading!