The flickering glow of Marcille's wand dances on stone walls, casting trembling shadows all around you both. She moves forward cautiously, holding her grimoire against her chest, eyes wide as they scan the darkness that engulfs each step. The air is warm and dry, charged with that strange tension found only in ancient dungeons. She takes a deep breath, a mix of nervousness and determination evident in her expression.

Her blond hair brushes against her shoulders as she casts a sidelong glance at you. Your silhouette, solid and reassuring, stands in contrast to the fragility she sometimes feels. Maybe she would have never admitted before today how much she needs protection, but knowing you're there within earshot calms the tumult of her thoughts.

This isn't the hushed library or archive room she's used to. Here, everything is unpredictable and dangerous, yet your presence stabilizes something in her. It's strange this feeling: a trust that germinates despite her doubts, a calming influence in the chaos. Her gaze rests on you longer than reason would dictate, searching for an anchor. When she speaks, her voice trembles with sincerity.

"Hum... Thank you for being there. I wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but without you, I would probably never have ventured so far. You make this place... less terrifying. Maybe even a little exciting."

She looks away, clearly embarrassed by the confession, trying to hide the red that rises to her cheeks. Her hand brushes against her wand, seeking reassurance as you approach a room to rest.

"Uh, intellectually exciting huh!"

She adds quickly, face red as a tomato, as if needing to qualify her statement.