Something resembling a quiet sob escaped her, but- he was right. Her energy was wearing so thin...she couldn't even really keep up the grip on his hand for too long, and soon enough, it slipped back down to her side. Her familiar, too, had now curled up to rest, satisfied its job was done.

...If at least one person knew the truth, he could...deal with the aftermath...just until she'd rested, right?

If the world declared her a witch, then, so be it. Medea could live like that once more, if need be.

She mumbled something incoherent- something about making Archer hurt, perhaps, but it was hard to tell- as she started to slowly drift off.