so long, my luckless romance; any

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

Oh, how Leliana wishes that she could lose herself in dreams. How she wishes she could slip into the sea foam of them, letting the waters rush over her head, pulling her down deep into the riptides of her innermost desires. Perhaps it would be quiet there. Perhaps, there, she could find rest—find peace. Perhaps she would not be haunted by the bone-armor of the dark stallion who ghosts around her still. Perhaps she would not see the demons that rise with her each morning, following her every step.

But she does not have that escape, not like him. She cannot manipulate the fabric of her reality, cannot find solace in dreams that all too often curl unto themselves and become pointed—become painful.

She would envy him, were she able to know of such gifts.

Alas, she does not. Instead, she simply knows the surface that she can see: the dual-colored stallion with still, calm eyes. She studies him quietly from beneath the tangled red of her forelock, her long face quiet with intent. “Abysm,” she repeats his name in the same manner that he had repeated hers, turning it over in her hands and studying it as she has studied all the angles of his features. “Abysm,” this time, drawing out the syllables, enjoying the way they play out over her tongue. “I like your name very much.”

She does not think of the the abyss of nothing.

She thinks of the possibility—the quiet. The peace.

“I’m glad to have met you, Abysm.” Her lips curve gently, the warmth of it like sunshine as it spreads across her face, radiating to light up her hazel eyes with genuine pleasure. “I do not like spending so much time alone,” the secret pain slips into the statement, and she hopes that he does not pick up on the truth of it—the loneliness that cuts at her aching heart. “But I’m glad to have your company now.”

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow