Author note: I felt compelled to write some ArtemisMinerva.

The Infallible
-the lovesick meet at night

o

They were sick with love, pale sweaty skin diseased with fear. But love conquers all. This they did not believe, for they would meet at night when the light of the half-moon could be blamed. Whispers extended towards the night sky and the trees gloomily towering over them chastising.
"This love is wrong." The words spill out before he can stop them.
"You are wrong. This is right." She says and pushes and pushes and he is helpless.
Because love conquers all, he remembers and whispers and she agrees. He is wrong and he knows, but the silence twists his words and she loves him more.

In the day she breaks out with fever. They will give her pills and injections, yet it will not help. She knows this because she is ill with the silence that grew that night. He knows because he always knows. Though he may not be right this time when he says he loves her. She realises this too late, but her smile is undeterred.

They were lovesick and they met at dawn. It was a paltry dawn. The dew settled on their skin like sweat, they were already destined for this and knew nothing of it. He laughs and she smiles when they both walk across the wet grass, hands entwined and hearts light. Because today there is no moonlight and no night and they wont have to be dreaming about dying in each others arms.
Because they were past that

He does not remember this, because surely he would have told her. The dreams were haunting, only present when she was not. Demons and wildfire haunted his days, for that was when he dreamt and the nights were with Minerva and she kept the dreams at bay. The fire scorches his mind and when he wakes up he thinks he is is dead, but he's not. When he wakes he is disappointed.

They were all lonely children, expect Minerva, she was not. Following his dreams of fire and hatred there were fogs of twins haunting his steps – and he was lost in the mist. Minerva helped, for he was still a lonely child, despite the brothers now inhabiting a manor that used to be his and she spoke comforting words to him.
"Rome was not built in a day," she says and her eyes shine through him. He feels as though the sun shines upon him, but it is night and the moonlight is not nearly as warm as her smile.
Her love makes death pleasant

He looks at her one day over the top of his book and he smiles at her, but she does not see. Her eyes flick across the lines and they are not the same shade of green they used to be, yet he already knows she has changed.
Her smile is not for him

Her fever no longer breaks out at day. It's a string of continuous outbreaks and at nights she can hear her own screams. The anguish and regret only exist in those dreams, because Minerva can not relate to them otherwise and neither can he.
but he has never told her about them because he was wrong and she was not.
This wasn't as much a dream as it was an obsession and it felt wonderful, he thinks. He began to write poetry. A poem for every obscene word she cried at night. He began to scream as well, only his cries were confined to the silence in his mind, the soft sobs muffled by a pillow. More importantly – her pillow. She was all he cared to think about, for they were one-of-a-kind and in love

She cries because it is not his and she is not his.