TW: Body horror, fake death. Read with caution.

Tigris wasn't sure where she was.

"Show yourself! Where have you brought me?" Tigris shouted into the empty room. It was identical to the room she'd been in moments ago: made of dark jagged rock with eerie blue sconces glowing on the walls. But there was no entrance or exit. And in the centre of the room, a large pedestal sprouted out of the ground.

The object on the pedestal seemed to absorb all the light in the room, like a black hole of sorts. Tigris' breath lodged in her throat. The object was as dark and glassy as obsidian, cracked with molten golden veins that pulsated with a strange, choking sort of power. The shadows in the room seemed to stretch. When she looked closer, she noticed that the surface of the egg-shaped object seemed to writhe, like it was coated in a rippling viscous liquid as thick as clotted blood and was being touched by invisible hands.

Inkblood.

It was the object of power. She was sure of it. Tigris crept closer, wishing she had her sword on her. Hell, she wished Roche was here with her satchel to safely hold the object. But Roche wasn't here.

Neither was Finn or Aodh.

It was just Tigris.

Just Tigris and a very explosive, very dangerous object.

Sweat beaded on her brow. She had to take it, had to get rid of it for her kingdom. She carefully placed her hands around the base of the egg, lifting it up from the pedestal. Tigris felt a burst of warmth the moment her palms connected with the smooth surface. It rippled, and suddenly, Tigris' face wasn't staring back at her.

It was a body. The inkblood she'd slain in the market.

The one Roche had mourned.

Her throat dried. The divide between her body and her reflection seemed to stretch and fade. Her autonomy and control over her body winked out like a candle snuffed out in the darkest of nights. She was locked in place, slowing getting sucked into the vision.

A figure entered the scene, distorted by the ripples of the inkblood. Tigris watched a shadowy version of herself prowl forward over the body of the inkblood. She knelt, caressing the fallen inkblood's face. Then she was pulling her sword out of his stomach.

There were people around her, watching her yanking her sword away. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing they would avert their eyes, their attention choking her as much as Roche's words had.

The inkblood's body jerked, unseeing eyes rolling in his head with the movement. Tigris placed her bloody sword beside him, like she was building a shrine.

Then, her fingers plunged into the hole in his abdomen.

Nausea crept up her throat as the warmth of his blood pressed against her calloused fingers, warm and slimy, tacky under her fingernails. Her body moved on its own accord, no matter how much she resisted. The skin of the inkblood's chest bulged and tore as her fingers worked methodically up his chest cavity, past many greying organs. Her knuckles knocked against his ribs, once, twice, thrice. Then her fingers wrapped around something fleshy.

She pulled hard, snapping the tubes holding his heart in place.

Warm blood gushed down her arms as she held up the object of power, egg-shaped and glowing. It seemed to shine in the sun, obscuring the body she'd desecrated so terribly. The blood on her hands flaked off, turning to copper beads. Tigris turned towards the rest of the market, holding the object of power aloft. She'd gotten it. She'd gotten the object of power.

But at what cost?

Their eyes pressed against her. Roche stared at her like she was a monster.

Then her body was her own again.

Revulsion coated Tigris' throat. She felt the egg in her hands tremble with her will. And she wished they would stop looking at her like that, because she was so disgusted with herself that she couldn't bear their judgement.

And then Tigris watched as every person who had been staring at her turned to flames, just as they had when she'd led her father's raids.

Her mind was yanked out of the vision violently, so violently her brain rattled around her skull. Tigris could still practically feel the tack of blood against her porcelain skin, the pulse of the object like a fleshy, pulsating heart cradled between her palms.

Her nostrils stung with the smell of ash, the bodies she'd burned.

And the horror of it all hit her in a terrible wave. Tigris choked, her eyes burning. She reached up to her face to scratch the image from her eyelids.

And in doing so, she dropped the explosive object of power.

She could only feel relief as the world went up in smoke.

-------

"You have seen what you need to see." the ghostly woman's voice filtered through her ears distantly, like a dream, "You have failed the test, Princess Tigris. Your desires led you astray when you held power in your hands. You now know the curse this object brings. Let it guide you. Do not fail us again."

Tigris squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could yank the memory of the test out of her mind with her bare hands.

It was a dream. she tried to tell herself, laying still against the cool, stone floor, A terrible, terrible dream. That wasn't me.

Bile crept up her throat. She nestled into unconsciousness like a cocoon, even though she knew, deep down, the librarian's words rang true. In the moment she'd wrested control of her body, she'd unknowingly willed for those people to stop existing, just so that she could live with the consequences of her actions.

And the object of power had enacted her will.

Nausea turned her stomach. She couldn't deal with the ramifications of the vision. She was content in her failure, for once. She wouldn't need to deal with object of power. She'd not be the one to carry the burden of holding it.

She would not need to hold that power in her hands.

Tigris stayed on her back, relishing in the innocent rise and fall of her chest.

It seemed like she'd stay that way for an eternity. But then a hand, rough and nimble, wrapped around her shoulder, shaking her.

"Wake up, princess."

Tigris squirmed, twisting her face. She'd failed. Couldn't the librarian just let her rest?

A low chuckle made the air stir. "Come on, princess. You know it's my job to wake you up. Don't be a brat or pull out a gun on me or something. My heart can't take it."

Tigris' heart nearly stopped. Roche. Roche was alive! Roche hadn't burned!

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Hands braced her shoulders carefully, far more careful than Roche usually was.

"Easy, princess. Take it slow, you've been out for a while."

Tigris nodded, still catching her breath. Her vision began to clear slowly. Roche looked like a mess. She had heavy shadows under her usually bright eyes. Her warm brown skin was smudged with grime and had a few chunks of rock stuck in it..

But her smile was one hundred percent Roche.

She was alive. Gloriously alive. Roche grinned that stupidly impish grin of hers and relief loosened Tigris' chest.

"Roche," she breathed. She moved forward to embrace the girl, but Roche held her at arm's length. Tigris frowned. The maid's movements were stiff and careful. "Are you injured?"

"No, but we need to be careful. I'm holding an explosive."

Tigris' stomach dropped to her feet as Roche dipped her fingers into her satchel and hoisted the object of power. "Finna said it wouldn't go off unless we wanted it to, but we still should be careful not to jostle it too much."

The blood drained from Tigris' face. Her lips moved but her voice failed her. Roche's grin slowly faded. Her grip of Tigris' wrist tightened, shifting the delicate bones of her wrist.

"Princess?" she asked. Tigris could only stare. "Tigris?"

Tigris swallowed. "Don't. Move."

Roche remained perfectly still, releasing Tigris' hands. Tigris scrambled back, terror seizing her chest. She feared that Roche would go up in flames at any moment, if there was so much as a small, errant desire in her mind-

Tigris shook her head, pressing back. Her hands knocked into something fleshy. She spun around, gaping as she tried not to fall across her brother's unconscious form. "Aodh!" she shouted. Roche's lips twisted wryly. She hoisted herself up to her feet, with far less cautiousness than Tigris would have preferred.

"I'll wake Finn. You do Prince Aodh." Roche promised, tucking the object of power back into her satchel. Tigris shook off her stupor.

"Who said you can give orders?"

Roche rolled her eyes. "No one, princess. But if I have my way with waking up Prince Aodh, he's in for a rather rude awakening."

Tigris laughed, the banter easing her tension. She moved to Aodh's side, shaking him. To her surprise, he launched upright with a gasp, with no sign of grogginess. His chest heaved, and his ice blue eyes were wild. His hair was ruffled and totally mussed up. Tigris pinned down his hand as his fingers curled into a fist.

"Aodh! It's me!" Tigris snapped. Aodh's eyes focused almost instantly. She watched horror bloom in his eyes for an instant before it faded, recognition and hope lighting up his gaze.

"Tigris?" he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp. He stared at her, stunned, "You... I..."

"It was the test," she promised, surprised to feel tears clogging her throat, "It was just the test. It wasn't real."

Aodh nodded shakily and she eased off him. Across the room, Finn shot upright with a cry, knocking Roche over. Tigris cried out in alarm, but Roche somehow managed to wrap her body around the satchel protectively.

"Finn! Calm down!" Roche yelped, "It's just me!"

That only seemed to make him more frantic. Aodh popped onto his feet, crossing the room. He shoved Roche aside roughly, grabbing Finn's thrashing limbs.

"Finn. It wasn't real. Calm yourself." Aodh ordered, his voice soft. Tigris looked away as Finn began to calm. When he was a young boy, he'd always been terrified of the dark. She and Aodh used to sneak into his room, despite their father's rants about building Finn's strength, and they'd curl up beside him in his bed.

Nostalgia washed over her in a wave. She crossed the room, holding his other hand.

"Come on, Finn. Don't be a baby." she murmured fondly, flicking his nose like she used to when they were kids. That seemed to rouse him from his half conscious stupor. His jaw slackened, and he sat back, stunned. Tigris gave his hands a squeeze. She noticed his gaze drift towards Roche. His muscles tensed. He pushed Tigris and Aodh away.

"I'm okay." he muttered, looking around, "Did any of you pass the test?"

Roche nodded, patting the satchel gently. "We have the object of power. Now let's get out of here and find a way to destroy it."

Finn's jaw clenched ever so slightly. He nodded tightly, and Roche's brows furrowed ever so slightly. Still, she didn't say anything. She pointed to the exit, a new doorway that had appeared in the room. It was rickety and wooden, easy to shove open.

Fresh air caressed Tigris' face, loosening her muscles.

They stumbled out of the cursed ruins of the library, the sun shining on their faces. They'd been in there all night.

Roche moved slowly and carefully, following the royals at a snail's pace. But nobody dared complain. Tigris had no idea what her siblings had seen during their tests, but she knew it wasn't good.

And they'd all failed. All of them except Roche. Her maid was more pure hearted than them all. It was... unsettling.

Tigris turned her gaze to the shuffling girl. Who was Roche, really? And did she deserve to tag behind such wicked souls that were destined to rule?

A/N: Ngl, as I was writing this, I kind of regretted calling it the object of power. It seemed a bit cliche. But what do you all think? Do you have any alternative name suggestions? Drop them in the comments along with any criticism :D As always, happy reading!