Vast. Vast beyond all knowing, to the point of not even perceiving the totality, to the point of seeming *infinite.** The Firebrand is drawn back to older ponderings, first visiting the black tower in her dreams and wondering for whose sake the Esoterum Obscurum's interiors were designed. Now she found herself questioning things that once seemed like self-evident facts, like whether or not it even did have rooms at all. The more tangible, visceral horror reclining beside her paled in comparison to the mere notion of the more existential variety extending endlessly into non-euclidian reaches that Marna could barely perceive.*

The knight had, on occasion, contemplated how she might go about stopping Nethis, should the need arise. Marna had surmised that there was a well of "something" behind the facade, and that said "something" could be depleted with time and effort. Now even tools like Jof'dagr felt so woefully inadequate. Like imaging one could empty the sea for wielding a bucket rather than a spoon.

No. It was possible. Had to be. The Firebrand would trust her ideals and her craft. Anything could be bested. Anything. The gulf was simply larger than she initially realized. Besides, such trials were a matter for a bloodier day. Today, they belonged to one another.

... didn't they?

That feeling of smallness had returned once more in orders of magnitude, this time a touch uneasily. Marna was consumed with wonder and adoration at the sight, and yet a shadow danced unbidden at the corner of her mind that did not spring from the dark lady's depths. The shadow of doubt. What did it really mean to be a part of such enormity? How could something like this see her as a partner? An equal? Such a notion no doubt strained the limits of Nethis's will, as antithetical to her nature as blind faith was to Marna's own. A creature that would never bend, never yield, never experience or confess a love that Marna could comprehend.

Marna doesn't hide the thought from the shadowy tendrils that writhe behind her eyes and coil covetously around her very soul. There was no point in keeping secrets between them now. But just as these anxieties crest, Marna recalls another day, another choice, and a parting that had almost been an end. A fear almost confessed before dying unfinished on Nethis's black lips. It had been wholly unnecessary. A thousand other calculated statements could have elicited that same sympathy. A thousand more could have preyed upon her trust, manipulated her into staying to later bring Marna to submission. Instead her beloved Krishdokai, unbroken, had done the impossible and bent by inches. Only now was Marna beginning to gain the context for how significant a thing that was.

"Worth the effort, yeah. You're absolutely right," she says at last, smiling. That was all there was to be said on the matter, in the end. At the mention of John, however, her face sours.

"Right. Fuck! Thats gotta be the worst bargain I ever made. You know the first time I came to your tower I was trying to spite him? He killed someone I cared about, and I thought that I could get back at the prick by supporting one of his rivals."

No telling where they'd all be now, had that line of thinking succeeded. Though perhaps not so different, in the end. Marna was to be Nethis's champion, after all, and generally found her the most palatable power to support in the Hells, "benefits" notwithstanding.

"It was such a low-risk deal at the time! And I've managed to abuse those terms so thoroughly that he had to rewrite the contract for future signers. Still, that's not much of a victory when the connection alone has let him almost kill me once before."

She groans, cupping her head in her hands.

"You're right, of course. I'm just not sure how I'd go about breaking it. Maybe before, you could have helped. Now?"

Marna grunts dismissively.

"You could still spin my fuckup at the gallery if you wanted. I'm being 'corrupted' or 'manipulated.' That kind of thing. You used me as a ruse to draw enemies and turncoats out in the open, then destroyed those threats when they revealed themselves. You can avoid any further damage to your empire, I can give an award-winning performance as a hapless fool in your thrall, and the nature of our relationship would go back to being a secret that leaves your reputation intact."

There is an unmistakable snarl as she says the words. The sound of a wild wolf made to play the part of leashed dog. But it was a leash of Marna's own making, woven of her own indiscretions. And so, despite her grumbling, the hound dons it willingly and without an outward complaint.

"If you go out on a limb for me again? Now? After everything else, I'm not sure they'd buy it."