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The dragon’s flesh squelched between Marcille’s fingers, blood winding its way up her arms as she dug through the gore. The hem of her robe was soaked with it, her sleeves sodden, the acrid stench of blood and meat filling her sinuses; so thick in the air she could feel it on her tongue.
Dimly, she was aware of Laios next to her, carving through the dragon’s insides with Senshi’s mithril knife. He’d offered it to her, but she declined, opting to use her magic in tiny bursts to loosen the meat, breaking it apart so she could tear through it with her hands. She could feel fibers of it under her fingernails, and the blood caking into the lines of her palms, but she hardly paused to acknowledge it.
She was focused, singularly, on Falin, curled up inside the dragon’s stomach somewhere. Every moment that passed made panic seep deeper into her, ice-cold, trickling into her bones and eating her from the inside out.
All she cared about was her hands in front of her, grabbing fistfuls of flesh and tossing them to the floor, pausing only to grip her staff and cast tiny bursts of spells that lit up the area around her to loosen the flesh again.
Time lost meaning. Over and over again, robotically, in silence, she tore into the dragon's body, fingers digging deep. She lost track of how far they'd come, a bloodstained tunnel winding through the dragon's torso behind them.
Finally, Laios's knife hit something squishy.
—
The same knife dug into her palm, deep enough to send shocks of pain up her arm, her blood mingling with the dragon's as it dripped down her wrist, winding tracks along her forearm.
Her hand pressed to her staff, fingers wrapping firmly around it despite the bright, hot ache of pain, and the chant spilled from her lips as easy as breathing.
She didn't think twice. It wasn't even a question in her mind; she didn't stop to consider it, stop to even ask herself if she should.
Anything to save Falin. Anything. Her own life, if she had to give it.
The familiar power of magic flowed through her, mingling with the blood in her veins and the blood that ran down her staff, but it felt different than any other time she'd used it. It felt too big for her body, barely contained inside her, like the sheer force of it could split her skin and explode out of her. It crackled through her bones like lightning and they strained under the pressure, moments from snapping.
Marcille's blood traced the circle's grooves, scratched into the pavement, surrounded Falin's carefully arranged bones and bubbling over them, taking shape with every ancient word she uttered.
The air tasted burnt. Electric. Her hair stood on end, waving around her like she was underwater, and her legs nearly buckled underneath her.
It was almost intoxicating. The ancient words filled her throat, choking, exploding out of her with such strength she wasn't even sure if it was her speaking them, like a hand had seized her mouth and pulled the spell out of her, drawing it from some deep place in the pit of her stomach.
Her chest ached, her ribs feeling like they were coming apart at the seams. Her throat burned, like the words themselves scorched her on the way up. Her mouth tasted like blood that she knew was hers.
Never, for even a fraction of a moment, did she regret it. Not even when she felt her ribs crack, not even when she collapsed face-first onto the blood-soaked concrete.
—
Falin's eyes cracked open, her tear ducts wet with blood, and it spilled from her throat just as it had from Marcille's, coating the inside of her lungs with choking, cloying copper.
Laios wrapped a blanket around her, gently, like she would break if he breathed the wrong way. She felt like she would.
Her skin felt wrong, like it fit on too tight; her joints creaked and protested like they weren't meant to be used, fingers clumsy and stiff as she tried to pull the fabric around herself. She scrubbed her palms against her ears, her brother's voice muffled by the blood that still filled them, congealing into every crevice.
"Marcille," Falin choked out, the first word she could manage. Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears. Wrong.
—
"I'm so glad you're okay, Falin," Marcille murmured, running her hands down Falin's arm.
"M-Marcille, I can wash myself–"
"No, no, I have to make sure the magic worked right and your skin is properly restored."
Falin half-turned to look over her shoulder at Marcille. "Are you sure it worked right on you?"
Marcille froze, a dismayed, faked half-smile stuck on her face.
"…Of course," she said, reaching for Falin's arm again, washcloth in hand, and ignored the subtle crunching in her ribs as she moved.
"Marcille," Falin said, her voice low.
Her smile melted off her face.
"Marcille," she said again, slower. "What did you do?"
"I didn't–" she started to protest, but Falin moved toward her, and the washcloth fell from her hand, forgotten in the water.
A choked squeak made its way out of Marcille's mouth as Falin pressed her palms to either side of her ribs, thighs brushing against the elf’s as she did, and immediately, she could tell something wasn't right.
"Did you use healing magic on yourself?"
"Y-yes–" Marcille tried to back away, but Falin cornered her against the edge of the bathtub.
"For what?"
"It's not–"
"For what?"
Marcille's cheeks burned pink. She still looked exhausted; dark circles carving indents below her eyes, a weariness to her face. "The magic… it was stronger than I expected."
Falin's fingers drifted towards her spine. "You used ancient magic, didn't you? Dark magic."
For a moment, Marcille looked like she was about to lie– but she was always bad at lying, at least to Falin. She saw right through all of them, ever since they were younger
"Yeah. But it wasn't–"
"Why? Marcille, you know it's forbidden, you should never have–"
"I had to!" Marcille snapped, and instantly looked guilty at her outburst. "To save you, it was… it was my only option."
"What did it do to you?"
Marcille ran her tongue across the roof of her mouth, where deep grooves had been carved, stretching from the base of her uvula to her teeth. They still tasted of blood. "Nothing."
Falin gripped her waist tighter. Marcille squirmed in her grasp, but Falin didn't relent, running her palms up her ribs, feeling each one individually. She barely had to touch them to know they were wrong; some spaced too far apart, some too close together, some indented and others jutting out. One hand slid back to her spine, and her vertebrae felt the same; unnaturally jagged.
Knowing she had seen through it, Marcille lowered her gaze. "W-when I was casting the spell, it… Broke me. From the inside."
A pit of horror opened up deep in Falin's stomach.
"It– I tried to fix it, but I had barely any mana. I couldn't fix it correctly. All I could do was take away the pain and make it so the bones couldn't move around too much, but they froze in the wrong spots."
"You couldn't fix it because you spent all your mana bringing me back. That's it, isn't it?"
It wasn't a question.
"And the spell you cast to resurrect me is what hurt you."
Marcille tried to twist away from her but Falin's grip didn't budge. She hardly thought about it, hardly even consciously decided to do it before there was magic flowing out of her fingertips, lighting up below the water.
"Falin! Stop, you don't have enough mana–"
She didn't respond, focused on the feeling of Marcille's ribs shifting and rearranging under her hands, rippling below her skin. Marcille planted her palms against Falin's shoulders and tried to push her away, but Falin didn't move.
"Does that feel right?" she finally said, lifting her hands from Marcille's sides.
"How– how did you do that without chanting?"
"I don't know." The magic just came naturally to her, rushing out before she could stop it or think long enough to speak the spell aloud.
"You need to conserve your energy, you're not ready to cast anything yet," Marcile scolded, though she laid a hand on her ribs in awe. They felt perfect; exactly as they had before.
"Does it feel better?" Falin asked, moving closer to her so she could check along Marcille's neck and chest. "Are your other bones okay?"
Marcille's blush darkened, and she frantically jerked back. "Y-yes, they're just fine."
"Hold still, I need to make sure your skin is restored properly," Falin said, catching Marcille's face with a hand cupped around her cheek.
"It is, it was fine before," Marcille protested, but Falin's thumb brushed against her bottom lip as she spoke.
"Is that blood in your mouth?"
Marcille ran her tongue over her teeth. "No–"
Falin shushed her. "Open."
Knowing she wouldn't let up, Marcille opened her mouth and allowed Falin to peer inside. As she leaned in closer, their chests nearly touched, and Marcille's heart skipped.
"What happened?" Falin asked, eyes widening in horror.
Marcille knew she was referring to the deep cuts along the roof of her mouth and the insides of her cheeks, cuts that she had only barely been able to close with her magic. Her throat had burned too, when she woke up, so although she couldn't feel what it looked like she knew it was injured.
"While I chanted the spell– I don't know why or how– but it did this. I'd heard that ancient magic could harm the user, especially if they aren't strong enough for their body to handle its power, but I didn't think–"
Falin swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on Marcille's lips. "I've never seen damage like this. Especially to your throat, it's– Can you really not feel it?"
Marcille shook her head. "I healed it enough that I stopped feeling the pain. Is it bad?"
Falin didn't respond for a beat too long. "Your throat's shredded, Marcille. It goes all the way from the roof of your mouth back down as far as I can see."
"Oh." Marcille tried to shake off how horrifying the image was. "It's okay–"
Abruptly, Falin leaned closer, and Marcille was too shocked to move away, frozen in place as Falin's lips brushed against hers.
For a long moment, it felt like time stopped, the entire world narrowing only to where Falin touched her– nothing else around them mattering. Marcille couldn't even conjure a thought, couldn't even feel the relief of the years of longing she'd tamped down; her mind enveloped in perfect limbo. It was clumsy, a foreign sensation to her, but all that mattered in that moment was Falin, the grief and the fear of losing her and the exhaustion of the resurrection all melting away, all of it worth it, for this singular moment. She’d do it a thousand times over, rend her ribs from the inside, shred every inch of her tongue with ancient words too powerful for her to handle, all of it without hesitation if it meant her lips could linger against Falin’s for just a moment longer.
Her awareness entirely caught up in the softness of Falin’s mouth, she didn’t notice the soft light emanating from around them until a cold, tingling sensation flooded her mouth, her throat alight with the feeling– the familiar touch of magic.
"What are you doing?" Marcille gasped, pulling away from the kiss far enough to speak. Her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth and she could feel the gashes closing, the flesh knitting itself back together, and the torn muscles inside her throat did the same. "F-Falin, I told you–"
The words died in her mouth as Falin lowered her head and pressed her lips to Marcille's neck, tiny pinpricks of light exploding everywhere she kissed, and Marcille felt her skin tugging back together all the way down her esophagus, healing from the outside in.
"Stop!" she gasped, writhing away, and Falin finally did, relenting and straightening up.
"Feels okay?" she asked softly, her gaze searching Marcille's face for any lingering traces of discomfort.
"Yeah, it– it feels better. Feels fixed. But you can't use any more mana, and– and why did you–?" The reality of what Falin had done finally sunk in, and Marcille stared up at her.
It sank into Falin at the same time, and her own face warmed. "Well, I've been… waiting a long time for that. And– and I remember, when I was in the dragon's mouth, that I regretted never doing it." She looked away sheepishly, rubbing a palm nervously along her arm under the water. "So I thought–"
Marcille's hand found her shoulder and pulled her forward again, her lips slotting against Falin's like they belonged there; like they always had.
Lost in the kiss, in the feeling of Marcille’s skin against her own, Falin didn’t tell Marcille about how wrong her own flesh fit against her bones, or how twisted her insides felt. Under Marcille’s hands, roaming along her shoulders and warming her skin, it didn’t seem to matter.
—
"Is everything okay, Falin?"
"Yeah," Falin said, shifting her feet around underneath their shared blanket. Her bones seemed to protest every movement, like they weren't supposed to move the way they were. Each moment that passed made it harder to ignore, a creeping kind of claustrophobia filling her.
It was like her skin itself was rejecting her.
Marcille tugged the blanket higher over her shoulder, her cheek pressing into the pillow. "You sure?"
Falin smoothed the discomfort away from her expression and smiled at her, watching the way her green eyes crinkled at the corners in response. "Yeah, I'm okay."
Marcille seemed to accept it without question and shifted closer. "Are the others asleep yet?"
If she listened closely , Falin could hear the soft sound of Chilchuck's breathing, and the less-soft sound of Laios's snoring. Even as children, he was a loud snorer, and a heavier sleeper. Senshi, however, hadn't joined the rest of them in the bedroom, and the occasional distant sound of clinking pots filtered through the door from the adjacent room.
"Not Senshi," she whispered back, "he's in the kitchen cooking."
"Of course," Marcille said, trailing off into a soft giggle. Falin rolled onto her side toward her, gaze tracing the contours of Marcille's face.
She looked older, somehow, since the last time Falin had seen her, despite the comparatively short amount of time it had been. Something around her eyes just looked a touch more weathered, a little more tired. Falin was sure, though, that her face looked just as exhausted.
Among the bustle of getting ready for bed, not a word had been said about what happened in the bath– neither of them were about to bring it up in front of the others, but now, with the silence heavy between them, it was hard for both of their minds to not wander to it.
Falin could still feel the buzz of healing magic in her fingertips, and the heat of Marcille's body against her own in the water, and the touch of her lips– softer than she expected, softer even than the countless times she'd imagined it.
As she thought it, her eyes drifted down to the very lips she was thinking of, and it didn't escape Marcille's notice, her cheeks tinging pink enough to be visible even in the room's dim light.
"Falin–'' she started to say, but the words were lost a moment later, swallowed by Falin's mouth on hers as the tension finally snapped and she gave in. Falin's hand found its way into Marcille's hair, soft and still damp near her scalp, and Marcille's hand nestled into the curve of Falin's waist like it belonged there.
Marcille pressed against her, their bodies flush, like after all the time away from her she couldn't get close enough, like she could swallow Falin in her arms.
All the time that they had touched each other throughout the years, all the hugs and fleeting brushes of hands against thighs and entangled cuddles at night when nobody was watching; all of it paled next to this. It felt different, somehow, every touch electric, every place that their skin touched alight with warmth, tingling like magic was flowing through them.
Marcille gasped into the kiss, and Falin took the chance to lick into Marcille's mouth, gently, and Marcille's lips parted to let her in. Her head spun– from lack of air in the breathless, clumsy rush of the kiss or from Falin's closeness, she wasn't sure– and a tiny whine escaped her throat, with another drawn out close behind by the scrape of Falin's teeth on the inside of her lower lip.
Falin's mouth didn't feel like her own. A crawling discomfort wriggled its way across her skin, edging on panic– something was wrong, something deep and primal in her core felt so deeply, tangibly different, like she was a puzzle put together wrong at the edges, the entire inside a scrambled mess.
Marcille felt the tension in Falin's limbs instantly, and pulled back enough to catch her breath, her exhales warm on Falin's face.
Before she could speak, before she could ask if Falin was okay and insist on dissecting what was wrong, Falin's hand cupped the back of her neck and pulled her closer, devouring her concerns with a deeper kiss, and Marcille melted into the touch, the tension forgotten.
It was nothing. Nothing at all, right?
It was natural to feel strange after a resurrection, she told herself. Normal. Marcille did nothing wrong; she knew that Marcille, the genius of their academy, would never slip up a spell, not even one that tore her apart from the inside out as she cast it.
It wasn't Marcille's fault– wasn't a misspoken word or a wavering stream of magic– it was more like a compass. A string, wrapped up among Falin's bones, tugging her somewhere else; tugging her towards the dragon. An itching, nagging, writhing feeling of displacement.
Marcille's palm slid up Falin's arm, creeping under her sleeve, and the smoothness of her own skin sent a violent shudder of disgust through her, repulsion at her form that she couldn't place.
Frustration ripped through her, and in one smooth movement she pushed Marcille onto her back and straddled her, knees bracketed on either side of her waist. She kissed like she was hungry, every movement full of desperation so deep it almost scared her.
She kissed Marcille like she was consuming her, and Marcille reciprocated every movement, pulling her closer, letting Falin take what she wanted, little gasps and whines spilling out of her that only spurred Falin on.
Falin could feel the warmth of Marcille's body through her thin shirt, and her hands found their way underneath, fingers splaying across the flat of her stomach and the curve of her waist, dipping across the contours of her hips and her newly healed ribs. Like it had in the bath, Falin's touch made Marcille's face heat up and a thrill run through her core, but she didn't try to pull away this time, instead arching her back into Falin's hands, urging her more, more.
In the half-light, Falin saw Marcille gazing up at her through her lashes, her dark pupils wide enough with desire to overtake the forest-green. Falin's hands crept higher, and Marcille's arms looped around her shoulders coaxed her on, need eclipsing every other thought in her mind, full of nothing but Falin, Falin–
Laios's snoring caught in his throat with an undignified snort, coupled with the rustling of fabric as he rolled over in his sleep, and with a jolt the bubble around them broke. Falin's head snapped around– her vertebrae felt misaligned, her shoulders too narrow, every inch of her flesh screaming its displacement– so fast it nearly hurt her neck to ensure he and Chilchuck were still out cold.
They were, but the spell was already broken, Marcille's chest heaving as she pushed her elbows underneath herself and half-sat up.
"We can't wake them up," she whispered, voice hoarse and hesitant.
"You're right," Falin murmured, her spirits falling as she crashed back into their reality. For a long moment, they were silent, until Marcille spoke again.
"We'll find somewhere alone," she said, the implications of her words hanging heavy in the small space between their mouths. "Soon. When we're back at the surface."
"Yeah." Falin smiled, baring her teeth in a grin that sent Marcille's heartbeat fluttering. Oh, how she missed seeing that smile; its absence like a hole ripped into her chest that had finally been filled.
Falin rolled off her and laid on her side next to Marcille, her legs draped over the other's, hands lingering on her waist.
"You must be tired."
Marcille smiled. "A little. You must be, too."
Falin nestled closer to her, Marcille's head tucking against her neck. Marcille was right; exhaustion caught up to Falin the moment she paused long enough to feel it. Marcille felt the same, her body going limp in Falin's arms.
"Rest as much as you can now," Marcille said, her eyes falling shut. "We'll be on our way back to the surface in the morning."
Falin nodded, even a movement as small as that seeming to sap more energy out of her.
"Goodnight," she murmured, and felt a warm breath against her collarbone as Marcille sighed.
"Goodnight, Falin."
—
Falin's eyes snapped open, her breath caught in her chest, tangled among the invisible string that seemed to pull on every bone in her body, urging her out of bed, out of Marcille's arms.
Marcille didn't stir as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, half in a trance, the sense of wrongness so strong now that it crossed the border into panic, drawing her across the room. Her feet padded against the floor, the feeling of her smooth soles flat on the ground unfamiliar enough to make her stumble.
Her palm hit the windowsill, and she stared down at the pavement below.
She cast a final glance over her shoulder to Marcille, still fast asleep, her arms outstretched towards a woman who was no longer beside her. She would come back, Falin told herself– she just had to see, had to follow whatever instinct inside her was dragging her body forward, and then she would return to Marcille, to Laios.
She hit the concrete below, and with every step towards the direction she was drawn to, as if by an invisible force more powerful than her, she could almost feel her flesh shift, feeling more right, more in place with every step she took closer to the dragon.
The bedsheets grew cold against Marcille's fingertips.
Falin didn’t turn around.