A/N: I requested this category on 3 weeks ago and they only just got to making it now. So all the fics for Izetta I've written thus far are going to be put into this story as separate chapters.

Written immediately after I watched episode 2. It just took a few weeks to upload here since I had to request the category. But also please understand I have very little info/details to go off of as of right now, since the show has only just started. Most of the backstory I create is rough and personal input/assumptions.

Recaps a lot of the events of the episode from Izetta's perspective, but all that leads up to some new/original content.

Disclaimer: I do not own Shuumatsu no Izetta.

The Things She Gives You

She makes you feel so many things.

Things you'd never imagined possible before. Things you'd never imagined someone like you would ever be allowed to feel.

Ever since you can remember, you've been wandering, lost, uncertain.

No one ever accepts you. No one ever smiles at you. No one ever wants you.

All the people who ever did those things are gone, and in your heart of hearts, you know they're never coming back, no matter how hard you pray, no matter what kind of magics you might dream to use.

For the longest time, you felt cold, hollow, meaningless. Ever since your grandmother's passing, nothing has ever felt right, and up until then, things had hardly felt right to begin with.

You'd been so alone, and you'd always thought it was meant to be that way.

This was your fate, the fate of one with your forbidden abilities and cursed blood.

This was the fate of a witch.

You'd wandered for so long, jolting and hiding at the first indication of another living thing, fearing for your own life.

Because you knew nowhere was safe. Nowhere was ever safe.

Every other time you'd turn around, there were bombs falling somewhere, there were fires raging, people screaming, blood running.

For the longest time, you were at the midst of it. And for the longest time, you'd feared you'd never be able to escape it.

But then you met her, and she was your escape.

The first time you'd laid eyes upon her, you'd felt things you'd never felt before.

She'd startled you initially, because what business did such a lovely young girl have being all the way out in the middle of the forest, attended only by the company of an un-intimidating dog?

Her girlish clothing and well-groomed hair suggested to you right away that she wasn't of the same unfortunate background as you. Her skin was pale and flawless, her eyes bright and clever, her hair luscious and at a length that suggested she could care for it well.

Which was why you'd thought her to be a princess long before you knew the truth in your guess.

While she interested you, she also terrified you.

Because you knew those kinds of people tended to seek out your kind only to take advantage of them.

That was why the first thing you'd ever felt for her was fear.

Fear that she might prosecute you as so many others had done before.

Fear that she might judge you for your uncanny abilities.

Fear that she might hurt you, too.

But that fear didn't last long at all.

Because as soon as you'd slipped off the handle of your broom, she was right there beneath you, balancing precariously on the edge of a rocking boat, arms outstretched and fully prepared to soften your fall.

That was the first time she touched you. And though it ended up with the both of you sopping wet and ragged, it was a precious moment neither of you would soon forget.

At that point, you were still scared of her, anticipating the ridicule that years of persecution had hammered into your skull, making you believe there was no other possible response she could have.

But she proved you wrong a second time when she laughed, when her lilac eyes shimmered like sunshine on the river, when she told you she wasn't scared of you.

And she'd said you looked pretty.

That was when she made you feel confused.

How could a girl like this take interest in witches, enough to recount their tainted history with a genuine smile on her lips? How could a princess of such incomparable beauty ever think to call you of all creatures pretty?

But as you listened to her talk, that energetic, innocent voice that would soon echo throughout every part of your soul, that confusion turned into something else.

Hope.

The hope that maybe she would be different from all the rest.

And in time, you'd see that she would be.

In the warm, sunny, springtime afternoons, she'd run beside you through the green meadows and flower fields as you practiced riding your broomstick, never once frightened by your magics. She'd keep a hand on your back, supporting you all the while, praising your progress and commending your mishaps before encouraging you to continue.

She'd laugh, and sometimes it would distract you to the point that you'd lose your concentration, enough to slip right off the handle and into her arms again.

Even when you started to pick up skill and speed in your flight, she'd run along beside you until her cheeks were florid and pink, applauding you to no end and breathlessly requesting that someday she might join you.

In the cool, autumn evenings, when the sky was painted gold like a regal canvas, she'd hold your hand and walk alongside you down by the riverside. The water would reflect the colors of the season as your bare feet splashed lightly beside hers, your heels rolling over the smooth pebbles as you'd walk, laugh, and tell each other about your dreams.

During those times, you'd tended to listen to her aspirations more than talk about your own, but that never stopped her from inquiring anyway. That was just one of the many ways she showed you she cared.

And in the crisp, winter nights, she'd dance around in the dusty, abandoned barn with you, despite the fact that you'd told her a million times this was no place for a princess.

But she'd just laugh and assure you it was fine, because she wanted to be here with you no matter what.

And you'd cast your magics for her, and her alone, filling the thick, cold air with dazzling green lights, like a barrage of fireflies to guide the way for your dance. The rusted buckets, broken brooms, and other objects danced with you as you twirled in merry circles, giggling the nights away beneath a cloak of innocence and friendship, the likes of which neither of you had ever known before.

And somewhere along the lines, you realized you were feeling so many new things you'd never felt before.

You were excited, blissful, happy. The sorrowful words of your grandmother's prophecy, that your powers would only bring suffering to those around you, felt like a distant dream.

The princess made you believe otherwise.

She made you feel undeniably important. Life had never felt so amazing before, in all the years you'd known it. One moment with her meant more to you than a year without her, a fact you'd regrettably come to know firsthand soon enough.

Because even though you knew she would always be on your side, you knew the rest of the world wasn't.

...

That was what scared you the most.

When the people started coming after you, with blades and fire and pitchforks, shouting every horrible curse you'd never known existed.

But you weren't scared for your own sake anymore. You were scared for hers.

And for good reason.

Because, no matter how many times you'd screamed at her to run away and leave you, she never did. And you'd known that she wouldn't, which had made the act of begging all the more difficult.

You'd watched her, arms thrown out to her sides to cover you, shielding you with her own body as blood pooled at her right hip. But she never faltered, even in spite of that pain, pain you knew must have been agonizing to such a petite young girl.

That was when you realized you loved her. You loved her, cared for her so much, like you'd never cared for anything else before. And that love was matched only by the horror that came along with seeing her hurt because of you.

But that too, was a curse you would have to relive.

...

From the second you awoke, she was all you could see.

She filled your vision and your senses, standing in front of you, blocking you from harm's way, just like she had so many years ago. Her voice, her appearance, her presence. None of them had changed a bit.

The sense of conviction that shot through you then was strong enough to break you from your capsuled prison, stirring your dormant magics to the boiling point.

And the next thing you know, you're in the air, howling winds whipping your face a million miles an hour, the world a blurring swirl of blues and greens around you.

It's all you can do to grab the nearest gun you can touch and bring it under your command, mounting it as skillfully as any soldier mounts a companion horse into battle. It heeds your will as you tear off after your falling princess, helpless and battered.

It is your turn to repay the favor done unto you so many years ago.

This time, it is you who catches her.

It starts with a shout of her name and a desperate grasp of your fumbling fingertips. The spark of recognition in her glazed eyes is enough to make your heart soar, that she remembers you after all this time.

Gently yet firmly, you pull her in, maneuvering as carefully as possible given the circumstances, to keep her secure in your lap and cling to her, as though for dear life.

It very well may be just that.

In that instance, it is relief. The utmost, most poignant joy of having her back in your arms where she belonged.

You know it is selfish, because all that being with you has ever done for her is bring her pain.

But you just couldn't help it. You need her, and somewhere deep inside, you want to believe she needs you, too.

For the first time in what feels like ages - and what could've been that long, for all you know - you can hear her voice clearly, feel her hands caressing the back of your head, holding you as though you are the most precious thing in the world.

That is how she makes you feel now.

Precious. Needed. Loved.

You shed a few tears for those emotions, for those feelings that only she can evoke.

But the moment of reverie doesn't last. You are still being pursued, hunted by the enemies who outnumber you in persons and in supplies.

But the colossal planes and blasting missiles assaulting the air around you don't concern you nearly as much as the blood you soon find on your palm does.

The sight of her blood had always evoked something within you. A subtle rage, a fiery conviction, an unmatched desire to protect her. Just as she had protected you so many years ago. You want to repay the favor, although you know nothing could ever be worth the precious elixir in her veins.

The recognition of those feelings now proves it is her blood on your hands, and you know it was once again shed for someone else's sake. She'd always had a tendency to put her life on the line for those she cared about. Even though her life was far more important than the lives of most others, she'd never believed as much.

You knew her well enough to be familiar with her philosophy. She believed that her life was worth as "little" as the world said the lives of her citizens were worth in comparison to her own, and that their lives were worth just as "much" as hers was.

That manner of thinking of hers had caused a lot of her own blood to be spilled, but she never seemed to mind that much so long as others were spared in the process.

Still, it worries you as you hold tightly to her now, desperately trying to weave out of the paths of the deadly bullets being fired toward you.

You can't let it end like this.

Not after all you've been through, after all she's sacrificed for her country.

Not after you've only just gotten her back.

She's taught you so much: loyalty, devotion, understanding, hope...

You want to learn more from her.

So the defiance kicks in, the overpowering urge to protect that which is most precious to you. And you defy your grandmother's wishes yet again, and call upon your spells, for the sake of getting your princess out of here alive.

The planes crash one by one, flames pluming along the frozen mountainsides.

As you fly, you never loosen your grip on her – not for a second.

In frightening contrast, you can gradually feel her grip becoming weaker. When she speaks to you, her voice is thin and breathless, though it proves she isn't any less determined to get out alive than you are.

But it is all she can manage to pull that trigger and send you both spiraling out of the line of fire, down, down through the evergreen treetops and out of sight.

You call out for her, over and over again, but she doesn't respond anymore.

You do all you can to make the landing as soft and painless as possible, dropping your mount as soon as your feet touch solid ground. You clutch her close as you fall to your knees in the snow, drawing her in as you cry out for her again and again.

In dire contrast to the frigid ground beneath you, her body is unnaturally warm, and the blood still oozing from her arm is even warmer.

That is when you feel panic, something you realize you've never felt for yourself.

Only for her.

You press a hand over her forehead to find her skin hot, and you can both see and feel the shallow, white puffs of her breath.

You hate to put her perfect form down on that dirty ground, but it's necessary for you to tear the ends of your dress off. Carefully, you slide the large trench coat off her shoulders, revealing the gorgeous lavender gown she adorns. You've always loved that color on her, but right now you can't admire it; it reminds you of her eyes, which aren't open for you to see.

You roll up her right sleeve to reveal the wound. Crimson has been pouring out for a while already, covering her arm and fingers as well as your own. You wrap it quickly and tie it tight, with fervor, begging it to stop leaking her precious lifeblood.

She's always been so strong. You couldn't bear to see her like this – not again.

Fighting back tears, you whisper her name again, along with a promise to get her help swiftly. You won't allow yourself to shed those tears, though, because you know they'll only get in the way of your goal.

After much delicate movement, you drape the long coat over her, then manage to get her onto your back. Once you've finished tying the sleeves around your neck to keep her secure, you reach back to support her legs before standing.

She's always been slight of frame, but you can discern that the years of living out her stressful role in a position of high political importance has taken its toll on her.

For a moment, you are still, just to get a sense of her condition. You can hear her breathing feebly, her breath fanning meekly against the side of your neck. Her heart thumps quickly against your back, at such a heightened speed and force that it implies how dangerously her body is straining.

You swallow back another whimper and beg her to hold on, promise to help her as she's helped you so many times, in ways she'll never even know.

And now, she makes you feel important, because you know her life is in your hands. Even when she is sick and unconscious, she is still teaching you new emotions.

You start walking, and as you do so, you think back on all the things she's made you feel up until now.

There are enough to occupy your mind long enough for you to encounter friendly troops, defeated as they may be.

After that, it is more relief, and a bit more worry, as they carry her away to be treated.

You watch them take her, refusing to draw your eyes away from her until the curtains cover her and you physically can no longer see her.

You speak to the kind man as you discuss what has happened, to both of your parties. You awkwardly try to answer the questions you have no real answers to, until the doctor calls you in, permitting you back to your beloved princess' side.

Instinctively, the first thing you do is call out for her, until you realize she's not in any state to be replying.

She is still, quiet, her royal complexion paler than ever beneath the dim lantern light. The sheets are pulled down far enough to reveal the ugly scar on her right hip – the scar she'd gotten because of you.

You could still vividly remember when it had been an open gash, pooling down the side of her body until she was stepping in it.

You shake your head, reminding yourself that time's come and gone, and that she needs you now.

You never tear your eyes away from her closed ones as the doctor instructs you on how to hold the light. He works on her wound, cleaning away the blood and patching her up properly.

When he addresses you, your replies come naturally, nervously, as you try to cooperate.

You refuse to eat as he bandages you up, inadvertently telling him of all the guilty parts you play in your princess' injuries.

At last, he leaves the two of you, alone beneath the dim light of the lantern. You place it beside her pillow and kneel down beside her, carefully reaching beneath the sheet to find her hand.

With extreme slowness, you gently move her uninjured arm so that you may hold her hand once again, like you have so many times before.

But unlike before, now her hand is cold, limp, lifeless-

You whimper and violently shake your head, mentally chasing the awful thought away.

Your eyes travel back up over the sheets, to the faint rise and fall of her chest that just barely ruffles the fabrics. A new, thin veil of sweat has started to cover her forehead. You allow one of your hands to leave hers as you reach up to brush your thumb above her brow. There, her skin is still warm, but not as worryingly as before.

You just want her to wake up. You just want to see her look up at you with those incomparably beautiful eyes. You just want to hear that melodic voice saying your name.

Again, a stinging surge rises up behind your eyes. And though you beat it back down as best you can, this time, a few of the tears slip free. Your voice escapes along with them, cracked and feeble.

"Princess... please..."

Cradling her hand, you lift it up to your chest, dipping down to kiss the backs of her knuckles. Gingerly, you turn her hand over, and press your cheek in against the familiar creases of her palm. Those tiny little lines run across your skin like paths on a treasure map, leading to a secret base only for the two of you.

Sighing, another tear rolls down your cheek and transfers onto her smooth skin, dribbling down the length of her forearm to her elbow. Your lips find the pulse beating softly in her wrist, covering it as though to protect it, like she's protected you so many times before.

For a long moment, you keep yourself there, feeling the tiny little beats of her life pulsing against your mouth. You kiss her there again as another sob works its way out, and you're forced to close your eyes.

Even then, all you can see is her, marred and mangled, soaked in her own blood, suffering and dying for a cause far less worthy than her own life. Meekly, you beg her not to do this, not again...

"Princess... Princess..."

And like a miracle, you are answered.

"Izetta..."

Gasping, your eyes fly open once again, locking immediately with the nostalgic lilac pools of your childhood. They are weary now, exhausted to the point of complete enervation, but the spark of determination and liveliness you know so well remains, if only slightly.

Your mouth dangles open, incredulous that she's woken so soon, after all she's been through. High-speed, mid-air pursuits inside of army planes were enough to make anyone dizzy to the point of nausea. But flying outside of such planes on nothing but a magically-manipulated gun at speeds topping those of the planes themselves, tumultuously spinning, steeply diving, just barely avoiding death every second, all while bleeding continuously...

Your princess really is incredible.

You want to be sure to tell her as much, even though you feel she already knows.

With both hands clasping hers, you begin to tremble, rasping out her title once more.

"Pr-Princess..."

You watch as she heaves a rasping breath, one that seems to ail her slightly, her brow creasing as she winces. But again, her concern is only for others.

"I am glad... you're all right..."

You can barely comprehend how she's still being so selfless, even after all she's been through. You wish you could chide her for it, but you can't bear to argue with her when she is in such a fragile state. You'd never forgive yourself if something you said ended up causing a flash of pain in her eyes. So for now, all you can do is fret.

"Princess... Oh, Princess..." Desperately, you clutch her hand tighter, dipping down to rest your forehead against it. "Oh, thank goodness... you're awake..."

"Izetta..."

Again, she says your name, and it gives your life new meaning, new purpose, new reasons to keep going. Even when she's as weak as she is now, she still manages to give you strength.

But you know her time for defending you has passed for the moment. It is your turn to take care of her.

"Princess, the soldiers brought you food," you inform her dutifully. Not willing to release her hand just yet, you simply nod to the bread sitting nearby. "Please, if you can manage, you should try to eat something!"

"Izetta-"

"O-Or wait! Maybe I should call the doctor in first! He should check to make sure you're okay, th-that nothing else is wrong. Are you in any pain? How is your arm?"

"Izetta."

This time, she says it a little more firmly, though it isn't at all unkind. It makes you clam up, makes you realize that she's been trying to tell you something all this time and all you've done is babble. Guilt paints your features as you bow your head, though your gaze remains locked with hers.

With calculating eyes, your princess scans your appearance, assessing your condition before her own. And you're hardly surprised when she smiles so tiredly, so delicately, and speaks even more so.

"You're crying."

Her simple observation states so much more than the obvious.

She knows of the dreadful guilt you're feeling.

She knows you've been blaming yourself all this time, not only for the events of today, but for the past several years as well.

She knows you're in a different kind of pain than she is.

And unlike yourself, she believes you don't deserve to be.

You don't know what to say as you get lost in her eyes anew, drowning willingly in those lilac pools.

"Princess... I-"

"It's not your fault," she assures you. "Don't cry, Izetta."

Just those words alone breed more tears, and you whimper apologies.

"I-I'm sorry, Princess! I-I-!" You can hardly say any more as you hunch forward, still grasping her hand to your chest, wailing softly. "Y-You're hurt again... b-because of me-"

"Izetta," she says again. "This injury wasn't because of you, and you know it."

Miserably, you lift your face, stained with fresh trails of tears now.

"B-But, Princess-!"

"Hush, now," she soothes. "You don't need to apologize anymore, Izetta. You are not at fault for any of this. Please don't cry."

You swallow thickly and shake your head.

"I-I'm sorry, Princess. I can't..."

Again, she smiles.

"Then please, don't cry because you feel guilty for crimes you did not commit. Can you promise me that?"

You hesitate for a moment, trying to regain some shred of composure to show to her.

"I... don't know if I can make that promise, Princess. I don't want to... to lie to you and say that I can..." Little hiccups make your chest jolt as you choke back more tears.

But she isn't upset with you. In fact, she seems as though she'd anticipated this answer all along.

"That's very fair."

You nod, then continue.

"But... I'll try, Princess. I can promise you that."

She blinks, a sign of acceptance.

"Thank you, Izetta."

Then, you feel her hand return the grip you've had on hers for so long now, her slender fingers curling up to grasp the back of your hand.

Before you can respond or ask what she is doing, she is moving her right arm too, lifting it from beneath the sheets and drawing it up and over her body, reaching for you.

Inhaling sharply, you can't help but speak out when the worry courses through you anew.

"P-Princess! You shouldn't move your arm! What if your wound-"

"Izetta..."

Again, she breathes your name as though it is some kind of prayer, in such a way that reminds you that you matter in life – if only to her. And even if it is only to her, that means the whole world to you.

You whimper again, more tears streaming down as you bite your lip and listen to her.

"Izetta. I am fine. Please..."

You can see the water threatening behind her eyes, see the wobble on her lips as she tries to fight it back. She reaches up, and if that alone wasn't invitation enough, her verbal offer leaves no room for misinterpretations.

"Come here."

And it's all you can do to keep your voice down as you cry out, leaning down into her embrace as she guides you to her chest.

You lay yourself over her, and this is the closest you've ever come to being her shield.

Your right hand curls at her opposite shoulder, fingers threading through golden strands of silk. And your left hand guides itself to the sheet covering her hip, where the old scar stretches across her skin. You press your palm gently over it, wishing it would vanish altogether, wishing it had never happened in the first place.

But still, some selfish part of yourself won't allow you to forget what she'd once told you:

"I don't want it to disappear," she'd said. "Without it, you could've gotten hurt, or worse. I want to keep it. Because it will always remind me of how dearly I love you, Izetta."

You'd always hated that such a precious memory was linked to such bloodshed and agony on her part.

But if she could accept that scar as something worth receiving, you'd vowed to appreciate the beauty it contrasted in the rest of her. And even that scar itself is beautiful, because it is a part of her.

So you treat it with care, just as you treat the rest of her. Her bearing that scar is a sign of the utmost devotion, something you knew you'd never deserve from her.

But she deserves all of yours, wholly and truly.

You cling to her however you can in this position as you feel her arms locking around your shoulders and the small of your back. You rest your head against her chest and sob, burying your face into the sheets, and the exposed skin at the side of her neck.

It doesn't take much for you to realize she's crying now, too. Part of the reason she's brought you into her arms like this was probably so you wouldn't be able to see her tears, but you know they are there.

You can feel them, a small, almost timid dampness seeping into your shoulder. She is shaking beneath you, and for a moment, you believe it's just because of the cold.

Until you attribute it to the sobs raking her body, causing her to jolt and gasp almost uncomfortably.

And despite how deeply you've been longing for such intimate contact with her, you're forced to brace your elbows against the ground and push yourself away slightly, relieving a bit of your weight from her smaller frame. For fear of embarrassing her if you are to see her tears, you keep your eyes trained on the screens of her hair as you whisper to her.

"Princess... you're in pain-"

Just the act of saying it out loud makes it more real, and that horrifies you.

But her fingers clutch into your dress, silently begging you not to leave her. If that message wasn't clear enough, she makes sure you know.

"Izetta... If you leave me like this now... the pain will be much greater..."

You know she never intended to put pressure on you like this, but you don't feel the weight of this decision like a burden at all. For her to have said it so clearly like this, you know you could never leave her.

Not now. Not ever.

Her pain is far more emotional than it is physical, and only now do you realize what that means.

That she'd been scared of dying, not only because it would've meant she would no longer exist in this world.

Not only because it would've meant she wouldn't be able to fight for her people and for her country any longer.

But because it would've meant she wouldn't get to be with you anymore.

Death had never frightened her quite so badly until she'd met you.

In that moment, looking down over her trembling, vulnerable form, you understand. You understand that she is crying because she is scared of losing you, just as you are scared of losing her.

And right now, you can't bear to leave her anymore than she can bear to be left.

"Princess..."

As the tears start falling anew, you lie yourself back down over her, just as both of you desire. You can feel the relief in her entire body as she pulls you back down, holding you so tightly, you fear she might strain herself. But you know she needs this just as fervently as you do.

Your weight blankets her, and she clings to you. You are what keeps her together when she feels she might fall apart. And she is the same assurance for you.

Your hands and head return to their previous positions, over her scar and chest respectively. You can feel her hands mapping patterns all along your back, cradling you close, refusing to let go for anything.

You won't let go, either.

As you brace your weight over her, you can feel every inch of her as she quivers. The heaving gasps of her breath fan across your ear, causing fresh pangs of worry to shoot through you.

But you trust her, enough to know that she wouldn't let this continue if she were in irreversible pain. And as she'd said, leaving her now would be more hurtful to her than anything else.

So you stay, settling your weight against her as gently as possible. You nestle your face in beneath her chin, settling your ear against her collar. Her skin is still a bit cold there, but you're hoping your warmth can comfort her.

You can hear and feel her sobs more easily than your own now, and deep down, some part of you fears this intimate proximity.

You feel like you're intruding.

You don't feel worthy of being here, so close to her heart.

But you also know she'd never let anyone else come this close.

So you accept it as an honor, bestowed upon someone she believes to be trustworthy enough to take care of her heart. And you vow to do just that, no matter the cost.

You shift ever so slightly, until your ear is guided to the center of her chest, where her pulse beats strongest. You listen, committing every beat to memory, engraving the rhythm into your very soul.

You're able enough to recognize that her heart rate is much faster than it should be, likely due to the combination of her fever and her heightened emotions as she cries into your hair. You wait patiently, willing her to calm down, willing her to realize it's all okay now.

But even after a few minutes, her breathing is still erratic, her chest and stomach heaving beneath yours. Her heart is still pounding, and you can't help but fear for her.

Cautiously, you lift your head, just enough so that you may speak to her.

"Princess... your heart is so frantic." Worry creeps into your tone, making your voice thick. You glimpse her face to find her eyes are squeezed shut, and more sweat covers her forehead.

"I'm all right..." she rasps. "I'm all right..."

But her words do not convince you. There is far too much evidence that suggests her words are lying, while her body tells the truth. She verbally offers only kind reassurance, but no proof. And she physically offers only troubling proof, but no reassurance.

Again, she makes you feel panic.

You want to fetch the doctor, but that would warrant leaving her, as you'd promised not to do. And you fear that calling out for help might agitate her, but waiting for someone to come in could take too long.

There is only one option, and that is for you to help her yourself.

So you use the only viable resources you have left.

Curling over her, you slide your left hand away from her scarred hip, opening your fingers. Mustering up the light in your soul, you draw it out in the form of magic in your palm.

That tiny green light that saw you both through a unique and precious childhood, for better or for worse.

Confident that you can disperse the spell should anyone else enter the tent, you cast the flittering light up into the air.

From there, it slowly begins to divide into smaller particles, each one multiplying until a breathtaking spectacle unfolds beneath the worn old tent. Glowing green dust dances and swirls like a parade of fireflies – dazzling, comforting, familiar.

She is the only other person in the world who's seen this – the only other person you've let see it, you've trusted to see it. This is something for you and her alone.

You can feel the immediate effect it has on her.

She gasps, but it isn't harsh like it has been until now. Her breath is soft and wondrous, innocent again, as it was so many years ago.

You can tell she is remembering all the times you've shared together – in grassy spring meadows, by colorful autumn lake beds, and inside dusty winter barns.

The memories are only pleasant ones, ones she's lived out time and again in her favorite dreams, together with you.

It soothes her aching sobs, eases her desperate breaths, and calms her flustered heart.

You feel firsthand how greatly it helps her, making it all more than worth the risk.

But still, even after all she's been through, she is worried about you. Her embrace on you tightens as she murmurs thinly into the shell of your ear.

"Izetta... your magics..." She knows you're not supposed to use them, and you've done so twice in one day for her sake.

But you nestle closer to her, pressing your lips softly over the beat of her heart.

"Princess... it's all right. Please rest. I want you to be okay..."

Relief washes over you as you feel her nod, her chest deflating in a sigh beneath yours.

"I will be," she promises as her eyelids flutter shut once more. "Thank you... Izetta..."

"Princess..."

It feels good just to say her title, and even better to relax against her.

You fully intend to tell the doctor about everything regarding her condition in the morning, but for now, you feel she's improved enough to keep this time you've shared together a secret.

You allow your magics to continue their dance until you feel her breathing slow and deepen to a more regular pace. Until the strain leaves her lungs, and you feel safe enough to rest fully against her. Until you can hear her heartbeat drop to a more controlled, peaceful pace and volume.

Only then, when you are more than certain that she is deep in slumber, do you call off the spell.

For a long while, you lie there with her, her arms still loosely draped across your back as you rub lightly all up and down her sides. Every time you pass over the scar, you are fueled with another spark of conviction to ensure she'll never be hurt again – not if you can help it.

You lost track of time long ago, as soon as she'd opened her eyes and spoken your name.

So for some undetermined portion of the night, you lie there with her, keeping her warm, feeling her breathe.

You listen to her heart, the rhythm which is the source of her life, and the meaning for yours.

You're honored to be so close – closer than anyone's ever been before. She's the first person who's ever trusted you, with everything she is, and with everything she has.

She makes you feel confident that you can be worthy of such trust.

She makes you feel a lot of things.

She always has.

The fear and the panic that come with potentially losing her.

The confusion and doubt that come with her relentless belief in you.

The determination and confidence that come with her exposure of weakness to you.

And the unbridled affection and happiness that come with being so unconditionally cherished by her alone.

These are the things she gives you, the things you never asked for, but would never exchange for any reward. These feelings she evokes in you, moving your soul like the miracle you'd always longed for.

You love her with every fiber of your being, with every ounce of magic in your soul. You would do anything for her – even death was a small price to pay.

But you weren't going to let that happen. Not when she was still going to need you for a long time; not when you were still going to need her.

That night, with her curled safely and warmly beneath you, you feel something new, something indescribable.

Something you'll only ever feel on nights like these, rare as they may be.

Something that is only between the two of you.

She's taught you how to feel so many things.

You want to learn more.

You never want to stop learning, feeling.

So long as you stay by her side, you know you never will.

A/N: Goodness gosh I really hope they become more-than-friends in canon. Let us pray.

More to come!