[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/FjVCFoQ.png[/img][/center]
[center][color=cyan][h2]Etoile[/h2]
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[i][color=cyan]It's over. Breathe. Release.[/color][/i]

With a grunt, Etoile fell down to one knee, all the adrenaline of the fight bleeding out of her system. She'd nearly died. She had been [i]very[/i] certainly about to die. She'd been so fast...she swore under her breath as blood began to bubble from her wounds again, Clara's red crystals having melted away. She was so careless. So out of practice. If it hadn't been for—

"[color=cyan]Pythia![/color]"

The shout burst from her almost without conscious thought, and she broke into a limping run, heedless of her hurt leg. It had been fine thus far, it would stay fine another minute more. As she arrived, she slid down next Pythia and examined her worriedly. She was conscious, she was breathing, she was staring hatefully, and didn't look to be bleeding. But one could never tell with malum magicks. It could have injured her internally, and that would be harder to see.  [i][color=cyan]Come on, Sol, cut her some some slack.[/color][/i]

It escaped Etoile that she wasn't acting rational or normal. It escaped her that Pythia disliked and distrusted her, and she felt the same in return. It escaped her that it was the first time she'd even used the girl's name. Escaped her that the longer she stayed around this group, the more likely she died horribly from some not-altogether-misconstrued revenge against the Inquisition. Escaped her that the maleficarum was still alive, still speaking. All of it faded away. Her vision tunneled down on the girl, and for that fraction of a moment, all she saw was just that: a girl. A child. She'd saved Etoile's life, and had been hurt—the older woman didn't know how badly yet—as a result. A bitter tang filled her mouth, and she suddenly felt a keen sense of responsibility for this. Wasn't it an adult's job to protect children, and not the other way around? She would need to be [i]better[/i] in the future.

"[color=cyan]Pythia...[/color]"

Words that had seemed so easy a moment before escaped her, and she couldn't even remember what they had been. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? She snapped back to herself, and she shifted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable. When she spoke again, her voice was brusque as usual. The worry and tenderness that had been there in Pythia's name was gone, and she appraised her with a soldier's eye for injury. She stared into the girl's eyes, trying to gauge whether they were working properly, whether or not she could focus. "[color=cyan]Numbness, weakness, tingling, headache, shortness of breath?[/color]"

And then a tiny voice inside her, ignored:

[i][color=cyan]Please let her be okay.[/color][/i]