Rose had been meditating on her bed, unable to sleep, when the memories flooded into her.

Prior to the sudden rush of memories, she had been finding it difficult to sleep at night, because her bed felt so empty and lacking. Something was missing, and she needed to meditate to resist the urge to do what she knew would fill that hole. She had been getting little sleep ever since the road trip, and was on the verge of being driven crazy from sleep deprivation.

Unluckily for her, or perhaps luckily, the flood of memories drove her crazy anyway.

The memories were so intense that she instantly snapped out of meditation and fell backwards onto bed as she struggled to process them. An ear splitting grin filled her face, and she hugged herself tightly while rolling side to side, the warmth gushing from her heart like a flood from a broken dam. She had never felt so alive. She had never felt so happy. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her more than she could have ever dreamed.

By the time Rose managed to stop reveling in the all-consuming warmth, all thoughts of meditation had vanished from her mind. Her empty bed was painful. She knew what was missing. Why fight it? Why foolishly deny reality and languish in the cold when warmth was so close? It simply made no sense. He wanted her there, too, as much as she wanted Him here. She knew that now. She understood.

Rose threw on some clothes on top of her bedclothes and strode to His room. It was dark. Nighttime, almost morning. She thought of Him the entire way. She thought of the memories.

A dark room. A conversation. A confession that could never be taken back, both ways. She remembered the entire conversation, before and after The Moment. She hadn't died after all, in a way, despite the fact she had only said what she said out of a suicidal sense of self-destruction.

It was important to understand that Rose knew of Malcador's frustration with the elves. She knew that His love for her—aaah, His love for me, He called me the light of His life, aaaaaah!—was strengthened by the fact she had self-control. All but founded in the fact she was icy cold and in control, rather than letting loose like a slutty elf. Or Hilda. So she couldn't let herself be slutty. He had thought she controlled herself after The Moment and resisted the feelings. He was wrong and right. What she had done was resist stripping like a slut and fucking Him then and there, despite the overwhelming urge to, because she feared it would have spoiled the moment and spoiled His love for her.

Her own love, however, was strong and irresistible, so she made no attempt to do so. She could not stop thinking about Him. She could not stop the love pouring from her heart and filling her icy body with seething warmth. You could say that now... she was Obsessed.

Rose reached his room and opened the door. It was unlocked, as she expected. The previous visitor would have made sure of that.

She slipped inside and stood over His bed, looking down upon Him.

The urge to strangle Sophia was there, of course. To rip her arms off him, end their embrace, toss her to the floor, and to stomp her with iron boots until she would never sully their bed again. Their bed. Hers and His. But she knew Malcador would not forgive her. For all His anger towards the elves, He did love Sophia, and she had been far smarter than Rose. She had not resisted the compulsion to slip into His bed like Rose had. She had a significant advantage over her now, and Rose was angrier at herself than anyone for allowing it to happen.

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Besides. She had acclimated herself. She had accepted that Malcador would have a harem. It would not do to let her murderous impulses towards the others ruin her own relationship with Him. At first, she had gnashed her teeth and resented being part of the Five. To be part of the Five was to never be the One. But she no longer cared. She was bound by fate and prophecy to Him. Nothing could make her prouder and happier, even if she was not the only one. She had a place by His side forever, and for that she was so grateful she could fall to her knees and weep prayers of utter gratitude to the Goddess. Despite her paladin origins, she had never been a particularly fervent apostle, but now she felt she owed the Goddess everything. All her life she had been cold and alone, suffering the outrageous slings and arrows of ill fortune. But now there was warmth. There was light. And the Goddess was to thank for it all.

Rose, quelling her violent urges towards Sophia, stripped back down to her bed clothes—a tight tank top that hugged her breasts, and hot pants that hugged her butt and the top of her thighs. She had never cared much for her natural beauty before. It had hardly ever been much of a positive when serving as a simple paladin as part of the religious training all Penndracks went through, in honor of Anther's time as a paladin. But now her body was a tool, a factor in the game for His heart and His attention. She had to resist the urge to grin like an idiot with delight every time she caught him ogling her, and now her body was another thing she was endlessly thankful for. She lacked Sophia's slenderness and Hilda's outrageous proportions, but she did not feel beaten by either of them. She was just right, and she knew it. Malcador had told her such.

Quietly, she did some pushups, then sit-ups, then jumping jacks. After confirming she had worked up a decent sweat, she made her next move.

She slipped into His bed. She had to crawl over Him to get to His right side, as Sophia had already laid claim to the left side and the bed was positioned next to the wall. Once she was settled down, she traced a finger along His pectoral muscles, and nestled her head against His neck, inhaling deeply. Aaaaaah. Touching Him alone brought her shudders of delight. This was everything she had been missing. The hole that had driven her so mad before was filled. Why had she ever, ever, ever meditated to resist this? Why had she ever denied herself happiness when it was so close all along?

She pushed her body against His to the best of her ability, hungering for as much warmth as possible. This was bliss. To think that simply the act of resting in bed could be such a joyous, fulfilling act. Love, she mused, truly changed everything. Life without it was incomparable to life with it. Love altered one's perception on a fundamental level, altered how all things were seen and done.

She sighed happily, nestling her head against His neck, above His shoulder. She fit the crevice like a glove. This was where she belonged. Her rage towards Sophia quelled a little, to be honest. She could hardly blame any woman for succumbing to this temptation. The desire to be with the one you loved was overwhelming, and the bliss of accepting that desire even more so. As she said. She had been the foolish one for denying it.

Rose drifted off to sleep, plotting and scheming, one arm flung across His chest, one hand idly rubbing the smooth, bare skin of her stomach. She had to know her limits. She couldn't act too slutty. She had to maintain, to some degree, the icy façade, no matter how much the warmth gushing from her heart threatened to melt it all. She could not let the Obsession be too blatant, or His love for her would be tainted with the same streak of horror and condescension that Sophia had brought upon herself. But surely, this was fine. Surely bedding together was fine. Surely.