[ Alina doesn't really think she's earned Nikolai's care yet, constantly digging at the same wound over and over again, never giving it a chance to heal. Her shoulders seize, jerking into him to hold back the doubt and guilt that comes from asking him for just one more thing when she cannot give anything back.

It's not unlike what Ravaka asks of her. Even what Ravka asks of him, things to be used and discarded when they can give no more, balancing on the thin line of being commended for giving so much and being hated for not enough.

She thought it was love once, in the twisted, narrow way she's been exposed to. But then she had felt something more, something unyielding and forgiving, greater than what she could ever be that asks for nothing of her except to be Alina.

She loves Nikolai. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to stop loving Nikolai. She had been so afraid to face it before, the confession wrapped up in too much pain, and it's not that it no longer hurts, but she knows now it's possible to forgive and heal. ]

You will?

[ Arms pinned between them, her hands curl weakly against his chest, lifting her chin to question him with wet eyes. It's such a simple promise, but not one she can think anyone else would make to her so freely. ]

I didn't want to ask after everything. [ She ducks her head again, whispering. Her breasts ache, sore pressed between them, but it's so nice to be held again. ] They just hurt, and I didn't— I couldn't fix it by myself with my hands.