Work Text:
Ravella felt for Maris something she couldn’t voice. She had not the language to explain it. All she knew was that it was in her heart like a living thing. It fluttered within her when Maris smiled, or laughed, or really did anything at all. She wanted Maris to be safe. More than that, to be happy. She cared for her friend more than words could express, and Maris always seemed so afraid. It was unfair, how often people judged Maris for something that she had no power over. There was no truth, Ravella thought, in the things people said about bastards, for Maris was far more virtuous than she.