[Just as Vanille hates the hesitation and caution between them, so Fang loathes the dismay and trepidation in the younger gargoyle's voice. It tugs at her heart like a call, urges her to step forward, and Fang can't resist that want anymore.]

[It is a careful step; then another, and another, until the distance was closed. Fang wanted to run forward, to cling to her partner, but after a month of treating Vanille like a prisoner "for her own good," or something too fragile for the world, Fang needed to make it clear that Vanille had a choice; that Fang would stop at the smallest sign if her space or freedom felt threatened.]

[Ever since they were young, Fang walked a very fine line between protecting Vanille and seeking her companionship and aid. Now, Fang didn't know where that line was anymore; how could she accept Vanille's help when she needed it most when Fang could no longer keep either of them safe from the dangers they faced? They shouldn't need to suffer together, or at all.]

Yeah. Shouldn't even come to that—goin' it alone, I mean. Nothing I do ever seems to go right anymore, and you always end up hurtin' for it. [And tentatively, the taller gargoyle raises an open hand. The gesture hovers just short of her partner's cheek, silently asking—pleading—if it was alright.] Sorry.