Only one thing can break the spell...

Gill tries to back away, forgetting how little room there is in here. He half-trips over one of the beds, and the next thing he knows, he’s barely fending of a knife-swipe – Rosabel lashing out, wild-eyed.

It’s still her, he reminds himself. Even now, when she seems about to **** him – her beauty, her kindness, her compassion, they’re still there. Athisz has her twisted around on the inside, but he knows it’s her.

He lets the club fall to the floor – it’s no good to him here. Only – now what? If he can’t fight her, what options does he have?

Another swipe. He scrambles away, eyes on the door – should he just run? Surely not – he can’t abandon her in this state. Her hands are shaking, but he doesn’t dare try to grab at the knife. One of them would surely be hurt – what if it’s her?

Panic claws at the back of his skull. That tattoo – it’s under her skin, on her neck no less. What can he possibly do about that without hurting her…?

But beneath that, another feeling sparks. He can sense something changing in the air; something of the world around him, shifting. It resonates with his elven blood. Just hold on, he tells himself. For Rosabel, just hold on…

Again he sees her hesitate. Some glimmer behind her eyes before the tattoo reacts, the spell tightening its grip. She lunges – he tries to push her arm aside, aware of how easily either of them could be cut –

His feet go out from under him. Thump – his back hits the ground heavily. Winded. He raises his arms, warding off an attack, awaiting…

Some distance away, inside the citadel, the Erlking grabs that hateful, lying snake by her too-long neck, and with all his supernatural strength he twists –

Gill sees nothing, hears nothing. But he feels that deep sensation of movement, of something being pulled loose from his mind. Like a vice-grip, a pressure that’s been there so long he was no longer aware of it. The last vestige of Athisz’s control, gone.

But if he’s free, fully, then what about – ?

The knife tumbles to the floor; Rosabel’s hands clutch at her throat. Her scream cuts through Gill like shards of glass – he sits up to see her struggling with herself, her eyes wide, terrified. Frozen to the spot, he watches that cursed tattoo twisting, shifting –

– and falling still. Its magic inert, just a sliver of ink now. Athisz is dead.

And Rosabel…

She sways, and begins to fall. Gill throws himself forward, rushing to catch her – she falls limp in his arms, still. Trembling, he holds her body – lifeless – no –

“Rosa,” he whispers, pleadingly. “Rose…”

A gentle stirring. Taking a breath. Her eyes slowly open. She moves her shaking hands away from her neck, staring at them, then up at Gill. And again, slowly, he sees her wonderful smile spread from ear to ear.

“Gill…” she says, and it’s really her now, her voice, nothing else hiding behind her beaming, relieved eyes. Then – “Oh! You’re bleeding!”

Following her gaze, Gill puts a finger to his own neck. Stings. His hand comes away with a bead of blood. Nothing more.

“It’s just a little nick,” he tells her.

“How did that…?” Rosabel looks with mounting horror at her own hands – spots of blood there too. At the knife that lies on the floor nearby. “Did I – ?”

“Rosabel,” Gill says, “it’s all right. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!” Rosabel wriggles to her feet and grabs Gill with shaking hands, urging him towards one of the beds. “Lie down! Let me do something about that…”