this is the first day of my life; leliana

[leliana]

I see a ghost out on the water; I swear it has my face
I bend and drink the lonely down, the lonely down

Leliana is not the kind to shy away from the shadows.

She has been drawn there from birth. She has always found herself staring too long into them, something in her dove-heart fluttering and racing at the possibilities. Perhaps it this that kept her clutching to a love that threatened to shred her. Perhaps it is this that kept her seated in the middle of the inferno, the roar of it in her ears and in her heart. It’s been years, but there’s still the faintest of scars on her shoulder, on her cheek, where the patchwork stallion had ripped at her—leaving her with the flesh peeled away, revealing the bone underneath. He had been so angry when she refused to heal it. So angry that she had been insistent on keeping the wound, a reminder of her weakness, a reminder of her failures.

The memories stir now as she listens to him, her mouth pressed against his smooth scales, her chest to his so that she can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat—a reminder that she is alive and this is real.

She quiets at his words, her brow knitting together, worry stealing into her heart.

“Show me,” she finally whispers into him, pulling back just enough so that she can find his gaze and hold onto it. “Show me your demons.” A soft exhale. “I can handle it,” her voice is quiet but steady, her eyes searching the hard angles of his face. She knows, has known, that there was a darkness in him—something that moves beneath the surface. She does not think that he does not carry sin upon his shoulders, that he does not have blood on his hands. She does not dream that he’s anything but what he is.

And she wishes—oh, but for a moment—that she could find someone light.

Someone pure and good who brought softness to her world.

It would be simple and beautiful but oh—

It would not be him.

“I’ve been to hell before, Vulgaris,” she whispers the confession, her voice strained. “I am not afraid.”

She reaches out to press lips to his cool cheek, resting there. “I don’t want to change you,” because how could she wish him to be anything but what he is? How could she ask a predator to change his very nature? She couldn’t—and she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t ask him to soften, to release his ghosts.

She didn’t want him to be anything but him.

“I just want you to let me love you.”

Her tongue almost trips on the word, the suddenness of the emotion overwhelming, the scars within her burning at the confession, but she remains steady, her hazel gaze never wavering from his. In her belly, she feels the stirring of life, and her heart clenches at it, the moment washing over her.

I’m gonna stand here in the ache until the levee on my heart breaks

@[vulgaris]

hi i respond obnoxiously fast sometimes. i sorryyyy.