( Your Marjolaine, yes. Hers, that she had loved so dearly, even as her knife mapped a path between Leliana's ribs. For some that was a metaphor, when love fell apart, but this was so very literal. Marjolaine had condemned her to a slow death as a plaything to a sadist. Marjolaine had been the puppet master, and Leliana her marionette, dancing as told until the moment the strings were cut. And then she was restrung, by Dorothea, by devotion to the Maker, and now? She could well be tugging the strings to make her own agents dance, if she thought carefully on it.
Her brow furrows, and perhaps - just perhaps - in that moment there is the confused surprise that might have belonged to the Chantry lay sister he journeyed with. Zevran had, and always would be, somewhat perplexing. She opens her mouth, and by her expression it would seem she plans to voice a protest, before slowly closing it again. The righteous stand before the darkness. Darkness they had then, and darkness they had now, and it is-- painful, how Zevran's words strike her. Not so similar to old injuries being cut open, that they might be fully cleansed and healed, rather than being left to grow sweet and foul and fester.
There is a long silence before she can muster words and trust her voice to deliver them, though her head is bowed. )
My dear friend, do not undermine your own heart. ( Because if it is she who will lead them to a better world, than who is he but the guide? ) What else have we to light the path?
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Her brow furrows, and perhaps - just perhaps - in that moment there is the confused surprise that might have belonged to the Chantry lay sister he journeyed with. Zevran had, and always would be, somewhat perplexing. She opens her mouth, and by her expression it would seem she plans to voice a protest, before slowly closing it again. The righteous stand before the darkness. Darkness they had then, and darkness they had now, and it is-- painful, how Zevran's words strike her. Not so similar to old injuries being cut open, that they might be fully cleansed and healed, rather than being left to grow sweet and foul and fester.
There is a long silence before she can muster words and trust her voice to deliver them, though her head is bowed. )
My dear friend, do not undermine your own heart. ( Because if it is she who will lead them to a better world, than who is he but the guide? ) What else have we to light the path?