#bozha wants to rock the baba yaga forest lady look in her golden years

[bearmuther]

how do you see yourself in old age? / >:)

“In old age..” Bozhena glances down, moving a stack of her books from the desk to the floor. In her youth, she thought her current age would feel old. Now she’s mid-way through life, and it only keeps going. Time does not stop to catch it’s breath. She clings to her obligation.

“Perhaps I will remain with the inquisition until I no longer can.”  It feels just as wrong as it sounds. Even now, the inquisition feels fragile. There is not much time left. She wonders if they all know this, or if it’s her burden alone. “I am cleaved to Skyhold. I have a duty to them.”

Steadfast Bozhena has always had a plan. Now she doesn’t. That’s quite the conflict to grapple with. She keeps idly cleaning, moving mindlessly as she speaks, stacking books by the shelf, scooting a slipper beneath the bed. Age creeps up on you - life isn’t over, but it’s slower now, and perhaps Bozhena prefers it that way. She sees the way Manon looks at her.

“Then again, I figure I would do better elsewhere.” She shakes her head. Wracking her mind for a proper answer, she comes out empty handed. There are the obvious answers; she misses home. The hold may never be just how she remembers it, and there may be no room for her any longer. She wants to belong to something, but where does one with a history like hers find refuge? She must learn to live with these realities. All her nervous moving stops, and she moves to sit directly across from Manon. Bozhena shrugs, breathes deeply, and smiles.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t know what I want.”

It’s a hard thing to admit. She looks Manon in the eyes and feels that perhaps there is a little hope left in her. “I have no plans. All I know is that I want to learn. I want meaning in my life,” She pauses, “I want many friends, and I want to see my daughter’s grave once more. And, I hope my hair grows grey and inconveniently long. As simple as that.”