Got the devil in my eye, Feel the devil by my side; Leliana

[leliana]

He is a wildfire, and he consumes her. She is breathless with it, shocked by how quickly it all comes flooding back—the way that he pulls her under, dragging her down with a weight around her ankles. She is here but she is not. She is young and they are curled together in the meadow. She is young and he is pressing feverish kisses into her flesh in the damp heat of a cave. She is young and she is his. His.

But it’s not that time. It’s not, and she’s not the same.

And he isn’t either.

He breaks away at her soft plea, and the air is suddenly colder—too cold. She swallows hard, and she can’t stop the tears that quietly slip down her cheeks, the tracks they make down across the scars. She can’t help the flood of emotion as it beats against her chest, her pulse hammering.

“Dovev,” a prayer, again. As if saying his name could break through whatever was keeping his memory locked away. As if saying his name could erase all of what has transpired between them. As if it could make it like it never happened at all—as if they had never lost another, never let the demons be too much.

He’s harsh and angry, and she wonders why she invites such fury into her breast, why she is drawn to those whose emotions turn so quickly, the passion’s edge having the same keen edge as their hatred. But she doesn’t withdraw or flinch or move. She’s been exposed to it too much, and she just watches him with her calm, hazel eyes, the same sadness pricking the corners of it, the edges of her mouth turned down.

“I do,” is all she says. 

Even though she’s not sure.

It would be so easy to slip back into his touch, into this false reality that they were creating. She could be someone new, and he could be him, and they could start over—they could find happiness. 

But it’s a lie, and she knows it. 

So she just smiles, the motion far too sad for what it was, and she reaches out to trace her lips across his cheek, against the bone armor that she knows so well, the wounds that she has since healed. 

“You don’t remember me,” the confession creates an ache that spreads in her chest, and she shakes her head in spite of herself, trying to rid herself of the needles that prick so deftly at her heart. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, although it’s not. None of this is okay.

She pulls back again, finds his gaze, and holds it.

“Leliana,” it pains her to have to tell him this, and she holds her name close to herself.

“My name is Leliana, and we one knew each other.”

We once loved each other. We once lost each other.

it started with a perfect kiss, then we could feel the poison set in