Disclaimer:
I don't own anything!

Author's Note:

"Classic fairy tales do not deny the existence of heartache and sorrow, but they do deny universal defeat."
-Greenhaven Press

Mithos pressed his lips together. His sister had always been an intelligent, driven woman, but the way she was working now—it was scary. Kunir had brought Martel the mana leaves and she'd begun experimenting with them. Boiling, steaming, pounding them into powders, making salves and pastes. Trying various combinations with the power of the Unicorn Horn backing her.

"I don't like it," Mithos told Yuan. "She's going to work herself into an early grave."

"Has she ever been like this before?" Yuan asked him. "She'll barely even look at me if I talk to her."

Mithos shook his head. "The closest was for transfusing your blood into Kratos, but even then, she wasn't this bad. She's barely eating, Yuan. I'm afraid it'll make her sickness worse."

"I'll see what I can do, kid." Honestly, Yuan had been trying. It had been almost a month of this, with apparently minimal success. "Go grab some food for her. Finger food, something quick, y'know?" They both knew she was more likely to eat it if she didn't have to stop what she was doing.

"…okay."

Yuan waited until Mithos had left to step over to Martel had set up her workspace, along the far wall on the floor. She had medical journals propped open around her, her notebook for recording her experiments on her lap. Her hair was coming undone from its bun, locks hanging in her face and trailing down her back. Dark circles were smudged beneath her eyes, and her skin looked sallow and pale, making the scales stand out in sharper relief.

"Martel," Yuan said quietly, trying not to startle her. When no reaction came, he repeated it louder. He had to call her name two more times before she looked up.

"Yes?" she asked irritably.

"Sweetheart, you need to rest. This isn't healthy."

"What I need to do is figure this out, Yuan. I did not survive this long just to be outdone by a sickness.,' Martel told him, eyes blazing.

"There's nothing weak or wrong about giving your body the rest it needs. You're probably only making it worse."

Martel slammed her hands down on the ground. "We don't know what this is, Yuan! I can feel it under my skin. It's spreading, and we have no measure of time for it, no idea of its severity."

"So find the cure or kill yourself trying, is that it?" Yuan demanded.

"I don't see another option! Everything can be cured. I just need to find it."

She was about to turn back to her research, but Yuan moved to stay in her line of sight. "Everything except death, Martel. Have you really not noticed? You barely sleep or eat. You don't look at us. This—obsession is killing you faster than that sickness ever will. You're a lot of things, Martel Yggdrasil, but I never thought that a suicidal coward was one of them."

She was on her feet in an instant, joints cracking, swaying as she fought to catch her balance on numb limbs. Finally, a reaction! "Where do you get off on accusing me of that?"

"Because you'd rather hide in your research than face the fact that this sickness is happening. You don't have to think about it if you're focused on a cure, right?"

"You have no idea—"

"What you're going through? You're right, I don't. But what I do know? You're scaring us, Martel. You're scaring Mithos." There it was. A pause, a flicker across her face. It was a cruel thing to use her little brother against her, but Yuan was not going to let Martel self-destruct like this. "You haven't seen him around you much lately, have you? He's afraid to talk to you. Afraid you'll bite his head off, afraid of this—this mania that you've got in your head."

"I'm scaring you?"

"All of us. We love you, Martel. To see you this terrified and this obsessed is scary. We want to help you, but we can't if you won't let us."

"I—" Martel coughed, exhaustion beginning to catch up with her as the rage burned away. Yuan caught her arms as she swayed on her feet.

"Come outside with me. Eat a bit, take a nap in the sunshine. It's a nice day out."

(What has she done to deserve this kind of kindness? Her memories of—Luna, how long has it been? Weeks?—they're hazy. She remembers seeing the others vaguely, but nothing is clear. And Yuan is still here. She's probably stretched his patience beyond the breaking point, but he's still here, arm around her shoulder, leading her out of the room. And Mithos. Where is Mithos? She has to apologize. She has never meant to scare him. She's doing this to protect him, to protect all of them. And herself. Particularly herself. She doesn't want to die. Doesn't even know how this sickness will kill her.

Will it be a slow death, dragged out until she is ancient and hollow, trapped inside her own failing body? Or will it be escalated? Start off small until she has no control over her lungs, her arms, her heart? Will it be sudden? Just, one day, she topples over dead?

She doesn't know. None of them know and she hates it with every fiber of her being. She needs to be there for Mithos. She will not die in front of her boys like this. They are prepared for deaths in battle, from wounds. They are soldiers in that way. But to die like this? From a sickness that turns your own body into something else? No. Martel refuses to die like that.

But if she does die, wouldn't she like to enjoy some of the time she has left with her family?)

Mithos was waiting on the outside steps, looking so small for thirteen, a plate of something on his lap. He looked up and she could see the hope lighting up his face. "Martel?" he asked warily.

She smiled, tired but so happy to see him. Yuan helped her sit and she drew Mithos into a hug. She needed a bath; she surely didn't smell good, and she couldn't remember the last time she bathed, but that would be for later. "I'm so sorry," she said, loud enough for them to hear. She would have to do this again when Kratos came back from wherever he was. Likely training with Natael's soldiers; they'd taken a liking to him after he'd proved himself.

"I just, I didn't mean for it to get this bad," Martel said.

"We know. We're glad you're okay." Mithos drew out of the embrace a bit, pushing the plate towards her. "Eat. It's pork buns. I know you like those."

She ate mechanically. Her jaw felt tight, likely from clenching her teeth in frustration, and it made chewing a chore. Perhaps she would request some soup for the next meal. The two of them were very carefully not watching her eat.

"…Any luck?" Mithos asked, voice small.

He's afraid to talk to you… "Not much. A powdered form of the mana leaf seems to be the most effective so far, but that's still not a lot of progress."

Mithos patted her knee. "You'll figure it out." It wasn't the rote, supportive type of sentence that Martel had been expecting to hear, and it made more shame rush through Martel's body for ever putting her little brother through this. He had such absolute faith in her.

Yuan scooched closer so that they touched from hip to knee. Perhaps he was something of a mind-reader, able to sense that her thoughts were going to spiral back to Oh Luna, what happens to Mithos when I'm gone?

"We'll help you," Yuan promised. "Any way we can."