[Jaskier can't really pinpoint what is going through his head in the moment. A lot of things, and nothing at all. He cannot divine why he recoils from the plant, why the sudden thought of it touching him seems horrible somehow. Why this, of all things, feels like the crux of an entire season of stress and fear and outrage.

His heart shudders in his chest as he pushes himself back as far against the other side of the tub as he can.]

I'm not doing that. I can't be.

[He is. He knows he is, because he can feel the magic. He curses under his breath, nearly springing out of the tub as he feels the soft velvet of flower petals underneath his hands, gripping the side of the tub as if he's going to break it.]

I can't -- I didn't learn to do this. I didn't even know you fucking could do this. And you telling me to calm down is making it worse! You never tell anyone to calm down!