writings-of-an-introvert

[writings-of-an-introvert]

Is it romantic to say I'd rather taste the blood of my bitten tongue than tell you something I don't know if I belive no matter how badly it wants to slip from behind my teeth?

[writings-of-an-introvert]

If I had a nickel for every time Maggie Robertson played a villain with a secondary monstrous form in a wildly popular IP, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but weird that it's happened twice.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

I made a sad comment on tiktok about Astarion not wanting to outlive Tav. Many people demanded I pay for therapy. I'm broke so I wrote this while listening to Hozier's Unreal Unearth album. So I suppose that's close enough lmao

--

I Have Lived My Whole Life (Psychopomp)

Tav was feverish the whole night. They barely slept, but they weren't restless. Astarion could hear their heart quicken and weaken. He knew they didn't have much longer. He sat with them, the whole night, reminiscing of long over adventures and quests, of times long past, of their first meeting, of saving Baldur’s Gate. The moment he knew he had no choice but to love them.

Tav had aged. They had aged a good one hundred years since they slayed the Absolute and struck down The Dead Three's Chosen. Astarion did not. He watched in the shadows as Tav's hair grew grey and wiry, he watched wrinkles carve and crease their way through their smoothe skin, he watched their eyes lose their shine and grow dull with blindness, he watched their body become crouched with the weight of age. But Astarion stayed the same, his back did not bow, his skin kept it's porcelain smoothness, his eyes remained bright and sharp. He did not drink from Tav in these recent years, he wasn't sure they could withstand the toll it takes on them. So he returned to hunting at night, feeding on anything; just enough to sate his hunger, but never enough to kill.

"Astarion," said Tav weakly, pulling him from his thoughts as he laid beside them on the bed, still in his "day" clothes.

"Hmm? Yes, darling?" He looked over at them. They looked so beautiful, the dim candlelight nearly erased the hardest years from their face.

"I am so sorry, my dear," they said, reaching a hand to rest on his.

"Whatever for, my love?" he asked taken aback. He propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at them. He slowly brought their hand up to his lips and kissed their knuckles.

"I could never help you. Not how you truly deserved. I never found a way t-"

"Hush, darling." He began, "you have nothing to be sorry for. Especially, not that." He whispered.

"There was never a day I didn't try, my heart." They said, tears welling up in their eyes.

"I know." He kissed the backs of their fingers, "I know, darling. That's all I could have hoped for. You can rest, finally."

Astarion could feel their heart begin to slow, their breathing soft and easy. Certainly not long now. His eyes locked onto the sheets, lost in thought. Tav shifted in the bed.

"Comfortable, my darling?" He asked.

"Some bright morning comes." They said. Astarion glanced up at them, their eyes had turned to face the window. The sky had become a deep navy, signaling the approaching dawn.

"Indeed, darling. Would you like to go see it?" He asked, watching their face in the candlelight. Tav hummed in response. Astarion had not been able to walk in the sun since the tadpole was removed one hundred years ago. He'd given up hopes of a cure for his vampirism about seventy five years ago, and had his reckoning with eternity in the shadows and the mortality of those around him. The memory hurts, but does him no harm.

"I think I would," they said.

"Then allow me," said Astarion. In one sweeping motion, he stood up from the bed and scooped them up in his arms. He made sure to keep their blanket with them to keep them warm in the cold pre-dawn hour. He carried them to their back porch and sat them on a deeply cushioned bench just outside the back door. They were up on a balcony overlooking the Chionthar and Lower City of Baldur's Gate. Their home nestled gently on a grassy hill just outside Rivington, away from the hustle and bustle, but close enough for Astarion’s nightly excursions.

Normally by now, Astarion would be settling into his own bed in the basement. He refused to get a coffin. Tonight, however, he chose to remain by Tav's side, among the many things he refuses, letting them die alone was indeed one of them. He'd remain by their side until they were gone and slip away back inside to alert the temple for services. Then he'd write their other companions, those that remained, anyway. They would all like to know. He didn't expect them to come for him, but to pay their respects to Tav, if they decided to stay for him, well good: another reason to break out a fine vintage.

He looked at Tav as he plotted his next few hours. One hundred years he'd known them, loved them. He watched them grow and change and survive and thrive. One hundred years he held them in his arms. One hundred years and not a single moment of it all a transaction. A thought he hadn't had in a long time. A pit formed in his stomach, empty and heavy at the same time. He'd miss them, painfully. He'd be lonely again.

"My star, you're quiet tonight." They said leaning their head back looking back at Astarion, and for a moment he could see a clarity he hadn't seen for quite some time.

"Much to think about," he said, turning closer to them. He propped his arm up on the back of the bench and let the back of his knuckle caress their cheek.

"You have that look. You're planning." They said.

"I am." He replied.

"Planning to stay?" They asked. Tav had a strange look on their face. They stared deeply into his eyes, something stirred in him. This was his choice. Astarion tilted his head, his own eyes searching their face for a hint of any kind. He looked back out over the horizon. The sky was a pale pink, the clouds were a deep purple, and birds were just starting on their songs. He looked back at Tav, who's eyes never left him.

"I think so, my love." He said finally. Tav nodded. They sat in silence a while longer, Astarion listening to their heartbeat get slower and slower, he watched their eyes close one last time, he watched their breath become shallow and cease. His knuckle still caressing their cheek. After them he's never going to be the same. To love and have been loved so fully, so completely. To have healed and been healed. He kissed their forehead, he let his lips linger on their skin, taking in their smell, and running his fingers through their hair one last time. He closed his eyes.

"Darling, there's a part of me, I'm afraid, will always be trapped in the abstract of this moment," he whispers, "all my love and terror balanced there between those eyes."

Astarion looks back out over the world. The sun begins to peek up from the horizon. He doesn't feel it on his skin yet, the coolness of the night still lingers. He sighs and stands, but his feet do not carry him back into the shelter of the house. He looks at the door. He does not want to go inside. He looks back at the sunrise and walks to the center of the balcony, just a few feet away from the railing. He stares into the golden and rust colored sky, set to burst with erupting color and birdsong. It is blinding. He feels it then, as the sun comes up fully over the treeline, his skin begins to burn, yet he does not want to go inside.

The pain quickly becomes unbearable, his plan falls apart, just as all his plans did. Someone will find them, one a corpse and the other a pile of ash. He falls to his knees and closes his eyes, but he let's the sun bathe him entirely. He is not afraid. He is not sad. Nor angry. He is happy. The pain starts to numb and darkness creeps into the corners as his vision fades. He holds his arms open and he lifts his chin defiantly, basking in the glow of the burning first light of the sun.

He feels a pair of cool hands on his cheeks. His eyes dart open, the pain is gone. Standing behind him and looking down at him is Tav, glowing and radiant and young.

"Oh, my star, how bright you've burned for me all these years." They say. Astarion reaches for them, his hand glowing and youthful.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

I made a sad comment on tiktok about Astarion not wanting to outlive Tav. Many people demanded I pay for therapy. I'm broke so I wrote this while listening to Hozier's Unreal Unearth album. So I suppose that's close enough lmao

--

I Have Lived My Whole Life (Psychopomp)

Tav was feverish the whole night. They barely slept, but they weren't restless. Astarion could hear their heart quicken and weaken. He knew they didn't have much longer. He sat with them, the whole night, reminiscing of long over adventures and quests, of times long past, of their first meeting, of saving Baldur’s Gate. The moment he knew he had no choice but to love them.

Tav had aged. They had aged a good one hundred years since they slayed the Absolute and struck down The Dead Three's Chosen. Astarion did not. He watched in the shadows as Tav's hair grew grey and wiry, he watched wrinkles carve and crease their way through their smoothe skin, he watched their eyes lose their shine and grow dull with blindness, he watched their body become crouched with the weight of age. But Astarion stayed the same, his back did not bow, his skin kept it's porcelain smoothness, his eyes remained bright and sharp. He did not drink from Tav in these recent years, he wasn't sure they could withstand the toll it takes on them. So he returned to hunting at night, feeding on anything; just enough to sate his hunger, but never enough to kill.

"Astarion," said Tav weakly, pulling him from his thoughts as he laid beside them on the bed, still in his "day" clothes.

"Hmm? Yes, darling?" He looked over at them. They looked so beautiful, the dim candlelight nearly erased the hardest years from their face.

"I am so sorry, my dear," they said, reaching a hand to rest on his.

"Whatever for, my love?" he asked taken aback. He propped himself up on an elbow to get a better look at them. He slowly brought their hand up to his lips and kissed their knuckles.

"I could never help you. Not how you truly deserved. I never found a way t-"

"Hush, darling." He began, "you have nothing to be sorry for. Especially, not that." He whispered.

"There was never a day I didn't try, my heart." They said, tears welling up in their eyes.

"I know." He kissed the backs of their fingers, "I know, darling. That's all I could have hoped for. You can rest, finally."

Astarion could feel their heart begin to slow, their breathing soft and easy. Certainly not long now. His eyes locked onto the sheets, lost in thought. Tav shifted in the bed.

"Comfortable, my darling?" He asked.

"Some bright morning comes." They said. Astarion glanced up at them, their eyes had turned to face the window. The sky had become a deep navy, signaling the approaching dawn.

"Indeed, darling. Would you like to go see it?" He asked, watching their face in the candlelight. Tav hummed in response. Astarion had not been able to walk in the sun since the tadpole was removed one hundred years ago. He'd given up hopes of a cure for his vampirism about seventy five years ago, and had his reckoning with eternity in the shadows and the mortality of those around him. The memory hurts, but does him no harm.

"I think I would," they said.

"Then allow me," said Astarion. In one sweeping motion, he stood up from the bed and scooped them up in his arms. He made sure to keep their blanket with them to keep them warm in the cold pre-dawn hour. He carried them to their back porch and sat them on a deeply cushioned bench just outside the back door. They were up on a balcony overlooking the Chionthar and Lower City of Baldur's Gate. Their home nestled gently on a grassy hill just outside Rivington, away from the hustle and bustle, but close enough for Astarion’s nightly excursions.

Normally by now, Astarion would be settling into his own bed in the basement. He refused to get a coffin. Tonight, however, he chose to remain by Tav's side, among the many things he refuses, letting them die alone was indeed one of them. He'd remain by their side until they were gone and slip away back inside to alert the temple for services. Then he'd write their other companions, those that remained, anyway. They would all like to know. He didn't expect them to come for him, but to pay their respects to Tav, if they decided to stay for him, well good: another reason to break out a fine vintage.

He looked at Tav as he plotted his next few hours. One hundred years he'd known them, loved them. He watched them grow and change and survive and thrive. One hundred years he held them in his arms. One hundred years and not a single moment of it all a transaction. A thought he hadn't had in a long time. A pit formed in his stomach, empty and heavy at the same time. He'd miss them, painfully. He'd be lonely again.

"My star, you're quiet tonight." They said leaning their head back looking back at Astarion, and for a moment he could see a clarity he hadn't seen for quite some time.

"Much to think about," he said, turning closer to them. He propped his arm up on the back of the bench and let the back of his knuckle caress their cheek.

"You have that look. You're planning." They said.

"I am." He replied.

"Planning to stay?" They asked. Tav had a strange look on their face. They stared deeply into his eyes, something stirred in him. This was his choice. Astarion tilted his head, his own eyes searching their face for a hint of any kind. He looked back out over the horizon. The sky was a pale pink, the clouds were a deep purple, and birds were just starting on their songs. He looked back at Tav, who's eyes never left him.

"I think so, my love." He said finally. Tav nodded. They sat in silence a while longer, Astarion listening to their heartbeat get slower and slower, he watched their eyes close one last time, he watched their breath become shallow and cease. His knuckle still caressing their cheek. After them he's never going to be the same. To love and have been loved so fully, so completely. To have healed and been healed. He kissed their forehead, he let his lips linger on their skin, taking in their smell, and running his fingers through their hair one last time. He closed his eyes.

"Darling, there's a part of me, I'm afraid, will always be trapped in the abstract of this moment," he whispers, "all my love and terror balanced there between those eyes."

Astarion looks back out over the world. The sun begins to peek up from the horizon. He doesn't feel it on his skin yet, the coolness of the night still lingers. He sighs and stands, but his feet do not carry him back into the shelter of the house. He looks at the door. He does not want to go inside. He looks back at the sunrise and walks to the center of the balcony, just a few feet away from the railing. He stares into the golden and rust colored sky, set to burst with erupting color and birdsong. It is blinding. He feels it then, as the sun comes up fully over the treeline, his skin begins to burn, yet he does not want to go inside.

The pain quickly becomes unbearable, his plan falls apart, just as all his plans did. Someone will find them, one a corpse and the other a pile of ash. He falls to his knees and closes his eyes, but he let's the sun bathe him entirely. He is not afraid. He is not sad. Nor angry. He is happy. The pain starts to numb and darkness creeps into the corners as his vision fades. He holds his arms open and he lifts his chin defiantly, basking in the glow of the burning first light of the sun.

He feels a pair of cool hands on his cheeks. His eyes dart open, the pain is gone. Standing behind him and looking down at him is Tav, glowing and radiant and young.

"Oh, my star, you stayed." They said, their brow furrowed. Astarion reaches for them, his hand glowing and youthful.

"I could have done nothing else, my love. I'd be home with you."

[writings-of-an-introvert]

Back on my overwatch bs. Enjoy some Moira x reader angst!

AO3 LINK

CW: weight loss, crying, relationship issues, reader likes Shakespeare (sorry not sorry), most importantly: Moira.

Word count: 2,529

There's no title

Enjoy.

---

The honeymoon stage of your relationship was long over. You knew who she was. You knew what her work meant to her. You knew her priorities. But what you didn't know was if she knew yours. She knew your favorite places to eat, favorite meals, shows, films; she knew you liked reading and theater, she knew you preferred coffee over tea but had a massive collection of herbal and medicinal teas; she knew you preferred sleeping on the side of the bed towards the window, so you could see the moon; she knew your work also took up quite a bit of your time, just as hers did. What she didn't know was that you made the effort to make time. Had she known, would things have been different? She didn't know you sat at home, lonely, in the dim light of twilight waiting for her. She didn't know how many times you'd remind her of a date or dinner reservation, but it didn't matter, she'd lose track of time and miss it. She didn't know how important these things were to you. To her, she could try again next time. Always next time. Because you'd be there waiting for her, waiting for next time.

Moira did love you, she was terrible at communicating it, however. Despite the time and experiences that had passed between you, she still blushed gently when you whispered sweet nothings in her ear. She still searched for you when you'd roll away from her in the middle of the night. She still chased you in her dreams, where she was free. Free from work and commitment and obligations. She still wanted you. And she would promise to make up for the lost time. In her heart, those promises were real, but eventually, the promises started to feel empty to you. Hollow words spoken to soothe your aching heart. 

"I'm so sorry, dearheart, this research is time sensitive. I'll make it up to you, sweetling." She'd say. Or,

"Darling, this amount of testing is intense, it needs thorough examination and observation. I promise I'll make time after this is over, love."

You'd sigh and smile and nod, but you wouldn't say anything anymore. A silent resignation to a new normal. It never stopped hurting. Each new hollow promise, each time she brushed you off, the pain built up. One night it left you crying, you'd gotten tickets to a production of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. It was directed by an old friend, someone you knew could do the story justice. You were thrilled to take her, to show her something small from your world you were so proud of. But when your phone lit up as you stood in front of the will call, you braced yourself. 

"Hey, love. You on your way?" You asked, letting the hope lift your voice. Maybe this time was different.

"I'm so sorry, dearheart," it wasn't, you knew. "My team is further behind than we thought. We need to make observations later into tonight. I-... I don't think I'll be home until the early morning hours." She explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," you said, and you were. You weren't sure for whom anymore. You tried to keep your voice even, trying not to let the frustration and disappointment lace too heavily as you spoke. "What time do you think you'll be home?"

"Quite frankly, love, I don't know. We are... we are quite behind." She said, you heard her sigh, you could practically see her pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke. Something in you stopped, the frustration and disappointment were gone. They were replaced with... something else.

"Hmm, well... best of luck with that, love. I'll see you." You cut yourself off and hung up. Heat raced to your cheeks and anger rose up in your chest. You turned to file into the crowd to find your seat. It wasn't until the curtains rose you realized you didn't say "I love you."

Moira was shocked by your response. The short, quick bite of your words stung more than she realized. A heavy pang of guilt sat like a boulder in her chest. She heard the line go silent and waited. You couldn't have hung up without... 

"Hello? Darling?" No response. She looked at the smoothe black screen, your face now absent. You did. She sighed again and returned to her work. She was distracted however. She made easy mistakes, things caught quickly by colleagues and corrected well within parameters. She was sloppy tonight, everyone could see something was wrong. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion and somewhere around two o'clock in the morning she realized she was useless. She called a taxi home.

Your show was delightful. You had studied classical text for years and were fascinated by the evolution of language. Though grammar and syntaxes may shift through the ages, the stories still matter. In a million iterations, the stories are still being told, and they'll always matter. You met your friend for drinks after the show and congratulated them on a job well done. They introduced you to the cast and crew and you were able to talk with both Benedick's and Beatrice's actors about the balance and foils of their characters through their names and dialog for quite a few hours. You chatted with Hero's actress about how she truly is the star of the show and complimented her on her performance. After a few more drinks, a quick late dinner, and a raucous good time, you hailed a cab back home around one o'clock in the morning. You made your way to the empty brownstone townhouse you owned, slid the key into the lock and entered the silent house. You were alone. Again.

That anger snapped back in full force. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve to be treated like a second or third priority. You loved Moira but enough was enough. It was going to hurt to leave, but it would hurt much worse to stay like this. You pulled your phone out and looked up hotels in the area. If she was going to leave you alone again, you'd show her what it felt like to be left alone for once. You climbed the stairs towards your bedroom, scrolling through options. You threw the phone on the bed for a moment as you knelt down and reached underneath. You pulled out the leather suitcase and plopped it beside your phone on the bed, popping the locks open. You started packing.

Moira's taxi pulled up outside. She looked up at the dark windows of the home she shared with you. She paid the driver, and tugged her bag over her shoulder. She quietly unlocked the door and slipped in. Moving as silently as she could she closed and locked the door again and set her bag down. She took her shoes off to muffle her footsteps up the polished wooden staircase, giddy that she would very soon slide into bed beside you and hold you as long as you wanted her to. She tippy-toed towards the bedroom and froze. A look of guilt slid over her features as she heard your sobs quietly coming from the slightly ajar door of your bedroom. She padded gently over to the door and pushed it open, her eyes widened at the scene. 

You were furiously packing clothes into the suitcase occasionally wiping tears away with the back of your hand. You turned and she caught your eye. There was a moment of suspended silence, neither one of you exactly sure what to say.

"Dearhear-" She started.

"Don't." You barked, cutting her off. Moira flinched at the tone of your voice. "Don't 'dearheart' me. I don't want to hear it, right now." You didn't yell, or shout. You didn't have the energy. You closed the suitcase. 

"I'm so so-"

"Sorry." You snapped, finishing her sentence. She fell silent again. "You're always so sorry, Moira. You're always sorry, and I'm always alone. We're supposed to be together, to be a team, but I'm here. I'm doing this on my own, I'm alone. And I'm tired of it, Moira. I'm tired of being alone. And tired of these empty promises. You keep making these promises that you don’t keep. I've tried to believe you, I want to, to give you every chance, but you have yet to follow through on any of it." With every word, horror dawned on her face, realizing what she had done. There was another long silence, occasionally broken by your sniffling. Moira chewed on her lip, she couldn't look at you, she wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came. You could see her expression shift as her thoughts wrestled with one another, her eyes shifting quickly across the floor. You waited for her to gather her thoughts, a splinter of sadness cracked your heart. Then Moira slumped against the doorframe as she let out a defeated sigh. 

"I know I cannot make you stay," she said, her voice thick and hoarse. She slid down the doorframe until she sat on the floor, covering her face with her hands. She was disheveled when she left work, but now she looked absolutely ragged. In the warm light of the bedroom lamp, you could see just how pale she'd gotten in the last few months cooped up in her lab, you could see the bones in her elbows protruding sharply under her taught skin, even the bones of her shoulder blades could be seen from under her crisp, albeit wrinkled shirt. She'd lost so much weight. She wasnt taking care of herself. It struck you just how long you had gone without seeing her, and you couldn't decide if you were angrier or just heartbroken. There was a long, heavy pause as you waited for Moira to continue. As you watched her, you could see her trembling nearly imperceptible in the gloomy light. Finally, after what seemed like all night, she pulled her hands away from her face. Her sunken eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks streaked with tears, her pale skin was blotchy. As she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper, choked and weak, resigned.

"But I do not want you to go." She sobbed. You had never seen Moira cry. She got emotional, sure, even vulnerable sometimes, but you had never seen her so broken, so lost. She looked so small, crumpled in the doorway sobbing like a child.

Your eyes shifted back up to the horizon. You stared into middle space as you decided what to do next. You sat down slowly on the corner of the bed. It hurt. It all hurt; being left alone, leaving, seeing Moira like this. It was like your heart was trapped in barbed wire and there was no way out without it ripping apart. You wanted her. All you wanted was her. You wanted her to hold you, and go to dinner with you, and see shows with you, and be old with you. You wanted her to know she was your number one priority, and you wanted to be hers. 

Your eyes burned and tears threatened to further stain your face and neck. The lump in your throat choked all word and thought from you. You slid from the bed onto your knees and crawled the short space between you. You reached out your hand and placed it on her shoulder. You wanted her, just her. 

She flinched at the touch and looked up at you, your face tight and contorted trying to fight back the tears. Her fingers brushed your wrist and when you didn't pull away she pulled you in tight, wrapping her arms around your neck and head. You wrapped your arms around her middle and held her just as tightly, both of you sobbing loudly into the others' body. And for a while that's all you did, cry and apologize and hold each other. Moira didn't make anymore promises that night. 

The sky turned a pale gray as dawn approached and still you two sat in the doorway, not saying much else. As the two of you calmed down, Moira began to stroke your hair, and your fingertips danced in patterns on the back of her neck. 

"Y/n," Moira finally croaked, "I am so, so, sorry."

You leaned back to look at her.

"I tried," you said, "I tried to talk to you, to tell you." 

"And I didn't listen." She said, pressing her forehead gently against yours, "I know I can't ask you to forgive me, I know you don't have to accept my apology, and I know I can't make up for this," Her hand came up to caress your cheek, "But I want to do better, I know better now. I want to try again." 

"And that's all I've wanted." You said, "I just wanted you know how I felt. How I've been feeling. How lonely I am when you brush me off or when you don’t come home."

"I'd be so lost without you, dearheart. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way," she whispered. "Please, stay. Stay with me."

You nodded and she wrapped you up in her arms tightly again, gently rocking you back and forth. Finally, as the birds began chirping outside, and the cold light of dawn streaked through your windows, the two of you stood and walked over to the bed. You shoved the suitcase to the floor with a thud, and the two of you collapsed on to the bed, wrapped in each other's arms. Moira drew the covers over the two of you, she gently pressed a long kiss to your forehead and muttered another string of apologies and "I love you"s, her breath was warm against your skin and the sound of her voice soothed you. You muttered your own apologies and "I love you"s in return. And that was how sleep took the two of you, limbs tangled endlessly together, breath breathed by the other, warmth shared between the two of you. 

Hours later, Moira's phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out and answered, her eyes still closed. But you looked at her, waiting for the moment you knew she'd have to leave.

"What." She growled, her voice was crackling and hoarse.

"Where are you?" A voice said sternly from her phone.

"Unwell." She said without missing a beat, "put David in charge." You pulled back a little, surprised she was calling out of work.

"You-" 

"My notes are in my top left desk drawer." She snapped. There was a pause. "Anything else?" She growled.

"No." Said the voice, "Rest up, O'Deara-" She hung up and threw the phone on the bedside table with a clatter and promptly settled back beside you. Her eyes never opened. You hand came up and cupped her cheek.

"Thank you, my love." You said. You knew that was more difficult for her than she made it seem. Her hand gently clasped your hand and she moved to kiss your palm.

"Of course, dearheart." She said.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

Back on my overwatch bs. Enjoy some Moira x reader angst!

AO3 LINK

CW: weight loss, crying, relationship issues, reader likes Shakespeare (sorry not sorry), most importantly: Moira.

Word count: 2,529

There's no title

Enjoy.

---

The honeymoon stage of your relationship was long over. You knew who she was. You knew what her work meant to her. You knew her priorities. But what you didn't know was if she knew yours. She knew your favorite places to eat, favorite meals, shows, films; she knew you liked reading and theater, she knew you preferred coffee over tea but had a massive collection of herbal and medicinal teas; she knew you preferred sleeping on the side of the bed towards the window, so you could see the moon; she knew your work also took up quite a bit of your time, just as hers did. What she didn't know was that you made the effort to make time. Had she known, would things have been different? She didn't know you sat at home, lonely, in the dim light of twilight waiting for her. She didn't know how many times you'd remind her of a date or dinner reservation, but it didn't matter, she'd lose track of time and miss it. She didn't know how important these things were to you. To her, she could try again next time. Always next time. Because you'd be there waiting for her, waiting for next time.

Moira did love you, she was terrible at communicating it, however. Despite the time and experiences that had passed between you, she still blushed gently when you whispered sweet nothings in her ear. She still searched for you when you'd roll away from her in the middle of the night. She still chased you in her dreams, where she was free. Free from work and commitment and obligations. She still wanted you. And she would promise to make up for the lost time. In her heart, those promises were real, but eventually, the promises started to feel empty to you. Hollow words spoken to soothe your aching heart. 

"I'm so sorry, dearheart, this research is time sensitive. I'll make it up to you, sweetling." She'd say. Or,

"Darling, this amount of testing is intense, it needs thorough examination and observation. I promise I'll make time after this is over, love."

You'd sigh and smile and nod, but you wouldn't say anything anymore. A silent resignation to a new normal. It never stopped hurting. Each new hollow promise, each time she brushed you off, the pain built up. One night it left you crying, you'd gotten tickets to a production of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. It was directed by an old friend, someone you knew could do the story justice. You were thrilled to take her, to show her something small from your world you were so proud of. But when your phone lit up as you stood in front of the will call, you braced yourself. 

"Hey, love. You on your way?" You asked, letting the hope lift your voice. Maybe this time was different.

"I'm so sorry, dearheart," it wasn't, you knew. "My team is further behind than we thought. We need to make observations later into tonight. I-... I don't think I'll be home until the early morning hours." She explained.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, sweetheart," you said, and you were. You weren't sure for whom anymore. You tried to keep your voice even, trying not to let the frustration and disappointment lace too heavily as you spoke. "What time do you think you'll be home?"

"Quite frankly, love, I don't know. We are... we are quite behind." She said, you heard her sigh, you could practically see her pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke. Something in you stopped, the frustration and disappointment were gone. They were replaced with... something else.

"Hmm, well... best of luck with that, love. I'll see you." You cut yourself off and hung up. Heat raced to your cheeks and anger rose up in your chest. You turned to file into the crowd to find your seat. It wasn't until the curtains rose you realized you didn't say "I love you."

Moira was shocked by your response. The short, quick bite of your words stung more than she realized. A heavy pang of guilt sat like a boulder in her chest. She heard the line go silent and waited. You couldn't have hung up without... 

"Hello? Darling?" No response. She looked at the smoothe black screen, your face now absent. You did. She sighed again and returned to her work. She was distracted however. She made easy mistakes, things caught quickly by colleagues and corrected well within parameters. She was sloppy tonight, everyone could see something was wrong. Her shoulders sagged with exhaustion and somewhere around two o'clock in the morning she realized she was useless. She called a taxi home.

Your show was delightful. You had studied classical text for years and were fascinated by the evolution of language. Though grammar and syntaxes may shift through the ages, the stories still matter. In a million iterations, the stories are still being told, and they'll always matter. You met your friend for drinks after the show and congratulated them on a job well done. They introduced you to the cast and crew and you were able to talk with both Benedick's and Beatrice's actors about the balance and foils of their characters through their names and dialog for quite a few hours. You chatted with Hero's actress about how she truly is the star of the show and complimented her on her performance. After a few more drinks, a quick late dinner, and a raucous good time, you hailed a cab back home around one o'clock in the morning. You made your way to the empty brownstone townhouse you owned, slid the key into the lock and entered the silent house. You were alone. Again.

That anger snapped back in full force. You didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve to be treated like a second or third priority. You loved Moira but enough was enough. It was going to hurt to leave, but it would hurt much worse to stay like this. You pulled your phone out and looked up hotels in the area. If she was going to leave you alone again, you'd show her what it felt like to be left alone for once. You climbed the stairs towards your bedroom, scrolling through options. You threw the phone on the bed for a moment as you knelt down and reached underneath. You pulled out the leather suitcase and plopped it beside your phone on the bed, popping the locks open. You started packing.

Moira's taxi pulled up outside. She looked up at the dark windows of the home she shared with you. She paid the driver, and tugged her bag over her shoulder. She quietly unlocked the door and slipped in. Moving as silently as she could she closed and locked the door again and set her bag down. She took her shoes off to muffle her footsteps up the polished wooden staircase, giddy that she would very soon slide into bed beside you and hold you as long as you wanted her to. She tippy-toed towards the bedroom and froze. A look of guilt slid over her features as she heard your sobs quietly coming from the slightly ajar door of your bedroom. She padded gently over to the door and pushed it open, her eyes widened at the scene. 

You were furiously packing clothes into the suitcase occasionally wiping tears away with the back of your hand. You turned and she caught your eye. There was a moment of suspended silence, neither one of you exactly sure what to say.

"Dearhear-" She started.

"Don't." You barked, cutting her off. Moira flinched at the tone of your voice. "Don't 'dearheart' me. I don't want to hear it, right now." You didn't yell, or shout. You didn't have the energy. You closed the suitcase. 

"I'm so so-"

"Sorry." You snapped, finishing her sentence. She fell silent again. "You're always so sorry, Moira. You're always sorry, and I'm always alone. We're supposed to be together, to be a team, but I'm here. I'm doing this on my own, I'm alone. And I'm tired of it, Moira. I'm tired of being alone. And tired of these empty promises. You keep making these promises that you don’t keep. I've tried to believe you, I want to, to give you every chance, but you have yet to follow through on any of it." With every word, horror dawned on her face, realizing what she had done. There was another long silence, occasionally broken by your sniffling. Moira chewed on her lip, she couldn't look at you, she wanted to say something, anything, but nothing came. You could see her expression shift as her thoughts wrestled with one another, her eyes shifting quickly across the floor. You waited for her to gather her thoughts, a splinter of sadness cracked your heart. Then Moira slumped against the doorframe as she let out a defeated sigh. 

"I know I cannot make you stay," she said, her voice thick and hoarse. She slid down the doorframe until she sat on the floor, covering her face with her hands. She was disheveled when she left work, but now she looked absolutely ragged. In the warm light of the bedroom lamp, you could see just how pale she'd gotten in the last few months cooped up in her lab, you could see the bones in her elbows protruding sharply under her taught skin, even the bones of her shoulder blades could be seen from under her crisp, albeit wrinkled shirt. She'd lost so much weight. She wasnt taking care of herself. It struck you just how long you had gone without seeing her, and you couldn't decide if you were angrier or just heartbroken. There was a long, heavy pause as you waited for Moira to continue. As you watched her, you could see her trembling nearly imperceptible in the gloomy light. Finally, after what seemed like all night, she pulled her hands away from her face. Her sunken eyes were puffy and red, her cheeks streaked with tears, her pale skin was blotchy. As she spoke again her voice was barely above a whisper, choked and weak, resigned.

"But I do not want you to go." She sobbed. You had never seen Moira cry. She got emotional, sure, even vulnerable sometimes, but you had never seen her so broken, so lost. She looked so small, crumpled in the doorway sobbing like a child.

Your eyes shifted back up to the horizon. You stared into middle space as you decided what to do next. You sat down slowly on the corner of the bed. It hurt. It all hurt; being left alone, leaving, seeing Moira like this. It was like your heart was trapped in barbed wire and there was no way out without it ripping apart. You wanted her. All you wanted was her. You wanted her to hold you, and go to dinner with you, and see shows with you, and be old with you. You wanted her to know she was your number one priority, and you wanted to be hers. 

Your eyes burned and tears threatened to further stain your face and neck. The lump in your throat choked all word and thought from you. You slid from the bed onto your knees and crawled the short space between you. You reached out your hand and placed it on her shoulder. You wanted her, just her. 

She flinched at the touch and looked up at you, your face tight and contorted trying to fight back the tears. Her fingers brushed your wrist and when you didn't pull away she pulled you in tight, wrapping her arms around your neck and head. You wrapped your arms around her middle and held her just as tightly, both of you sobbing loudly into the others' body. And for a while that's all you did, cry and apologize and hold each other. Moira didn't make anymore promises that night. 

The sky turned a pale gray as dawn approached and still you two sat in the doorway, not saying much else. As the two of you calmed down, Moira began to stroke your hair, and your fingertips danced in patterns on the back of her neck. 

"Y/n," Moira finally croaked, "I am so, so, sorry."

You leaned back to look at her.

"I tried," you said, "I tried to talk to you, to tell you." 

"And I didn't listen." She said, pressing her forehead gently against yours, "I know I can't ask you to forgive me, I know you don't have to accept my apology, and I know I can't make up for this," Her hand came up to caress your cheek, "But I want to do better, I know better now. I want to try again." 

"And that's all I've wanted." You said, "I just wanted you know how I felt. How I've been feeling. How lonely I am when you brush me off or when you don’t come home."

"I'd be so lost without you, dearheart. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way," she whispered. "Please, stay. Stay with me."

You nodded and she wrapped you up in her arms tightly again, gently rocking you back and forth. Finally, as the birds began chirping outside, and the cold light of dawn streaked through your windows, the two of you stood and walked over to the bed. You shoved the suitcase to the floor with a thud, and the two of you collapsed on to the bed, wrapped in each other's arms. Moira drew the covers over the two of you, she gently pressed a long kiss to your forehead and muttered another string of apologies and "I love you"s, her breath was warm against your skin and the sound of her voice soothed you. You muttered your own apologies and "I love you"s in return. And that was how sleep took the two of you, limbs tangled endlessly together, breath breathed by the other, warmth shared between the two of you. 

Hours later, Moira's phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out and answered, her eyes still closed. But you looked at her, waiting for the moment you knew she'd have to leave.

"What." She growled, her voice was crackling and hoarse.

"Where are you?" A voice said sternly from her phone.

"Unwell." She said without missing a beat, "put David in charge." You pulled back a little, surprised she was calling out of work.

"You-" 

"My notes are in my top left desk drawer." She snapped. There was a pause. "Anything else?" She growled.

"No." Said the voice, "Rest up, O'Deora-" She hung up and threw the phone on the bedside table with a clatter and promptly settled back beside you. Her eyes never opened. You hand came up and cupped her cheek.

"Thank you, my love." You said. You knew that was more difficult for her than she made it seem. Her hand gently clasped your hand and she moved to kiss your palm.

"Of course, dearheart." She said.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

Quick fic I wrote about that resurrection theory for RE8. I hope we get to see at least Lady Dimitrescu again considering just how much hype she got.

AO3 is linked as well.

It is strange, experiencing a beginning, or rather a new one. To return from oblivion is not a feeling many people get to experience, yet Alcina feels herself pulled from the void in to consciousness. It begins with sound, she notices; the sound of a heart beating, weakly at first, and then it begins to make an effort beating harder until it is like the drums of war in her mind; slow, steady, thunderous. Then, a breath, like a whisper through a window nearly silent; then soon it is labored and heavy, as though the one who was breathing was exhausted, taxed beyond their means.

Then came the sensation of feeling. With this dawning, she realized it was her heart and her breath thundering and rushing. She could feel her chest moving, rising and falling, heavy. She felt heavy all over. Her eyes refused to open though she willed them; for a moment she nearly believed she had opened them but simply faced a living void of madness, inky blackness still before her. She felt the muscles in her face work themselves; her brows knit together tightly holding tension in her forehead, the muscles over her cheekbones squeezed themselves together making her nose scrunch and her eyes clench tightly, her lips pursed and drew themselves into a thin line, her jaw clenched and unclenched. This tensing and untensing of muscles continued down her body, her fingertips twitching lightly. But her eyes remained shut. Her hands and feet felt cold, yet she could feel a weight over her body, a blanket perhaps. She is laying down on... something. It feels firm, it is not familiar.

Alcina laid there, hearing her heart, her breath; feeling her chest rise and fall. She still cannot will her eyes to open, not even when she feels a hand on her shoulder and a voice speak to her.

“Now, now, my Lady. You’ve still very little strength. Rest,” the voice said. Without much else, she is swept into a black dreamless sleep. The feeling of anything outside her body gone, she feels like she is floating, weightless, and suspended in air, or water; she could not tell.

Her mind began to wake next, where once thoughts of only the present and her immediate stimuli were processing, now were thoughts of the past. Memories unlocked themselves and spilled forth in front of her mind’s eye. She saw her daughters, laughing and smiling and running. She saw them awaken for the first time, the glassy looks in their eyes as they seemed to stare right through her. She heard Bela’s voice, /Mama?/ As she said it for the first time, elation filled her, she remembers that joy in that simple moment. Then she saw the ashes on the ground; in the library, the kitchen, the armory. Her gloved fingers sifting over them gently. They were gone. Something twisted and snapped in her chest. She saw /him/, scampering through her home, the evidence of his sins dusting his worn jacket. Then she saw him in the crypt. A sharp pain from her side wracks through her body. She sees herself above him, flying down at him. /She was going to kill herself and take him with her./ A scream tore itself, raging, from her chest.

Alcina tried to lash out, but something restrained her on the bed. Her strength still sapped away from her but the creaking of the bindings and the whining of their bolts told her it was perhaps coming back. She pulled harder, the scream now a pained howl. /How could life be worth anything without her daughters?/ She kept her eyes screwed shut, she wanted desperately to be swept back into oblivion, into the void of nothing. She didn’t want to be alive without them. She could feel large hot tears race down her cheeks; her howls turned into wails. She wanted to beg, she willed anything coherent to come from her mouth, but she could only muster the painful wailing, her pain beyond words. She felt the hand on her shoulder again but this time a sharp jab in her bicep followed it. A cold sensation ran its way down her arm and she felt heavy again. Her wails now choked sobs, she collapsed onto the pillow. The voice gently cooed to her.

“Hush now, my Lady, save your strength, all will be well,” it said. It was familiar, grating. Her mouth was dry and her lips felt as though they had been cut and torn but she mustered everything to speak.

“M-my... daught-ters...” she rasped. Her throat felt like sandpaper, her lips and tongue sticking as she spoke.

“I know, my Lady, but you must rest,” it said, the hand still holding her shoulder as though she would try to sit up again. She choked and rasped a few more sobs as sleep overtook her once again, the sound of her heart and breath becoming all she could hear again. Images swirled in her mind, vague and hazy, they were memories. Some, her mind wouldn’t allow her to process, others she only recognized a feeling they brought to her. Then there was the smell. Familiar, delicious, tantalizing. She felt her chest rise quickly, letting her breathe in the scent deeply.

/Blood./

Alcina bolted upright, mouth wide open, hissing and snapping at the air, the nauseating hollow in her belly driving her mad. She felt that damned hand over her chest, holding her back. At this her eyes snapped open; the light of the world was simply too much too quickly. A white void met her vision, her eyes suddenly and sharply ached. She closed them immediately and shook her pounding head, letting out a growl of frustration.

“Ah, I feel I perhaps should have expected such a reaction. Welcome back Lady Dimitrescu.” Said the voice, now very familiar. She squinted one eye open, the white light faded to reveal a massive hazy shape. Her cracked lips curled further into a snarl.

“Tut, tut, my Lady. Come now, surely I’ve proven my loyalty.” said the voice of the Duke. Alcina’s vision cleared further to reveal the massive bulbous form of the Duke, who seemed to be navigating the room via a wheelchair. Alcina let the tension in her shoulders go as her vision continued to clear and adjust, she eyed the Duke wearily, face still twisted into a snarl.

“There,” he said, leaning over to grab a bowl from a small table beside him that Alcina couldn’t see. “Come, my dear, let’s have you eat.” He said cheerfully. Her face fell into a perturbed confusion as her arms pulled at the restraints around her wrists. The sound caught the Duke’s attention. “Ah, a safety precaution, I hope you understand. But soon they’ll not be a problem.” He said, continuing with that cheery tone. He brought the bowl before her. Alcina lurched forward, catching the restraints, her mouth opened wide again, reaching for the bowl now snatched away out of her reach, a hiss that sounded more like a growl streamed from her parched throat. “Now, my Lady, I understand your fervor, however, this behavior is quite unbecoming.” Said the Duke, sternly, though Alcina could see the smug expression on his face, he was enjoying this, “Please,” he continued, “Allow me."

Alcina straightened up, watching the Duke settle again in his chair and bring the bowl to her lips. He tilted the bowl gently allowing the blood to run over her lips. Her hands tried to dart up and take the bowl herself, but they caught on the restraints. Her arms shook as she tried to fight and pull against the bindings. She sucked hungrily at the rim of the bowl, loudly swallowing large mouthfuls of blood. The bowl was emptied within moments and Alcina gasped loud ragged breaths as the Duke set the bowl aside, he grabbed a cloth and dabbed at the sides of her mouth.

Alcina sat there, staring upwards through half-lidded eyes at the middle distance, feeling satisfied, still taking in deep ragged breaths. Finally, after what felt like hours, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“My daughters... were-” her voice was low and raspy, she tried not to pay attention to the way it wavered.

“You have just awoken, my dear. Please, lay back,” he said holding up a hand to silence her, she didn’t like being interrupted, but she did as she was instructed. She watched him dig for something in a pocket and pull out a small key. He leaned forward and unlocked the first of two cuffs holding her to the bed. He leaned back and moved to the other side of the bed to undo the other cuff. Once both her hands were free, she massaged her wrists where the leather chafed against her skin.

“If you are feeling up to it, my Lady, I can have a bath drawn,” he said. Despite the sustenance she had just received mere moments ago, her head swam at the very thought of standing. She could feel her knees tremble under the blanket.

“Not just yet, I think,” she said.

“Very well, continue your rest, I shall check on you again in the morning,” he said as he wheeled his way around the bed towards a door that stood ajar.

“Duke,” she called out, but he was faster than she anticipated and he disappeared through the door closing it behind him. Alcina sat back against the wall. Oh, what a sight she must be, no makeup, hair a mess, and wearing some plain threadbare nightgown. She felt her eyes stinging and her lip began to tremble. Her mind turned back to her daughters; only they had ever seen her without makeup, on days when she had not washed her hair, when she did not have the will to leave her bed. They’d come and curl up beside her, it was one of the rare occasions they didn’t bicker. She’d wrap them all up in her sheets and her blankets and hold them to her tightly, the next day she’d be up and have a full face of makeup on and her hair clean and curled before they awoke. Now, she was alone again. Alcina hugged her knees up to her chest and let her forehead rest against them letting her tears fall freely until she laid on her side and fell asleep once more.

Morning came far too quickly for Alcina’s liking. The Duke returned and had pulled the curtains away from the window, letting the grey light from an overcast sky flood the simple wooden room. Her eyes ached and she pulled the blanket over her head, burying her face in the pillow. He was humming some drole tune that grated against her ears. She rolled her eyes as she heard something shift beside her, figuring it was the Duke getting ready to pull back the blanket from her grasp, but he never did. Instead, he stopped, Alcina slowly drew the blanket back to look at him, he was staring at her with a gentle smile upon his features.

“What?” she snapped; her voice still hoarse from crying most of the previous night.

“I brought you a change of clothes, my Lady, something I think you’ll be far more comfortable in,” he said gesturing to a large bundle of clothes on the bedside table. She reached out and touched it. /Silk./ She tilted her head and picked up the garment, she recognized it immediately. She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob, she pressed the white dress to her cheek. It was her favorite dress, comfortable yet elegant enough for her tastes. She turned to look at the Duke once more, opening her mouth to speak to him.

“I have drawn a bath just in the next room for you, my Lady, I think you’ll find the size accommodating,” he said over his shoulder in the doorway, “I encourage you to hurry, however, I have a request for your presence.”

Alcina stopped, who would want to speak with her? Surely, Ethan Winters succeeded in his mission, Mother Miranda must be dead. And to the rest of the world, so was Alcina Dimitrescu. Surely, there were no survivors in Ethan Winters’ wake. Perhaps she heard the Duke wrong, perhaps it was a jest. There was no one awaiting her return, surely. A cruel joke, to be sure, but perhaps she was meant to be the butt of every cruel joke, she had been so far.

She tentatively swung one leg after the other over the edge of the bed. Her feet met cold, polished wooden floors. She took a moment to ground herself, her legs still felt shaky but she pushed herself to stand, bracing against the wall. She grasped the dress and clean undergarments in one hand and leaned against the wall with the other as she made her way to the door to the bathroom. And to her surprise, as she ducked through the doorway, the Duke had been truthful. A giant claw foot ceramic tub sat in the cramped space, steam rising from it. Alcina breathed in the steam and could smell the soap and oils he used in the bath. She placed her dress and undergarments gently on the sink and slipped off the dreadful cotton nightgown she had been wearing.

The water felt divine as she sank in to her chin, she took a deep breath and dipped her head under the surface. She held her head under the water for as long as she could, listening to her heart as it beat in her chest. She came up out of the water with a small gasp, her eyes fluttering open. She found soap, shampoo, and conditioner and got to work scrubbing herself clean. She took her time lavishing in the hot water and scented oils, and when her fingers had begun to wrinkle, she pulled the plug from the bottom of the tub and let the water drain. She stood, dried herself, and wrapped her hair in the towel to let it soak the water from her hair. She walked back over to her clothes and carefully put them on. Once she was dressed, she found a small golden canister at the bottom of the sink, as though she had knocked it over and hadn’t noticed. She picked it up, it was a tube of lipstick, familiar in her fingers, she opened it.

Alcina let out another little gasp of surprise, it was her custom lipstick, from the castle. From home. Her eyes snapped up to the mirror and she quickly put the lipstick on. She pressed her lips together to ensure it was even, and then she smiled. Her smile quickly faded, there wasn’t much reason to smile anymore. She sighed heavily and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked different, while still tall and strong looking, her skin was no longer gray; pale still certainly, but there was color in her cheeks. She traced a finger delicately over her cheekbone. How long had it been since any natural color had graced her features? Surely, long before her daughters were ever a glimmer in her eye.

There was no curling iron, but there was a comb. She thought about trying to wrestle with her hair without the proper product in it. /Perhaps it won’t be so bad if it's still wet.../ She hummed a moment. /No, better to let it dry the way it is and try again when I have the proper supplies./ She unwrapped her hair from the towel and let it flow gently over her shoulders, perhaps she should at least braid it. So, she did, loosely and messy with pieces sticking out here and there, but at least it was away from her face.

Alcina knew she had taken quite a while, perhaps she had kept her “audience” waiting, but she was hardly sure there actually was one. She strode over to the door of her room to meet the Duke, she opened it and saw him waiting just on the other side, hand still in the air as though he were getting ready to knock.

“Ah, there you are, looking ravishing as always, my Lady,” he said. Alcina nodded.

“Thank you, Duke. However, under the circumstances, I am aware I do not look my best,” she said. He waved a hand at her.

“Nonsense, now, come along. There are some lovely individuals just longing to see you,” he said. Alcina looked down at him, brows knit together in confusion.

“Who exactly?” She asked.

“All in good time, my dear,” he said. Alcina scoffed and rolled her eyes in frustration. She hated secrets, but because of their agreement, Alcina couldn’t use her usual methods of forcing out secrets. She walked slowly beside the Duke, trying to keep pace with him and not walk too far ahead. The house they were in was large, but it was not her castle. Where exactly she was, she didn’t know, but at least she could walk comfortably upright here. She walked beside the Duke for what felt like quite a long time, but as they approached the first floor, Alcina could hear chatter. Something about the noise made her chest tighten. She lengthened her stride, walking ahead of the Duke, he did not seem to protest, and even if he did, she didn’t hear him. A laugh rang out and Alcina found herself nearly flying down the staircase, taking two at a time, her bare feet hit cold marble with a small smack. Her eyes widened; it couldn’t be... She could hear the voices distinctly now as she rounded towards the kitchen, but she still couldn’t see them, tears rolled down her bare face once more. /It wasn’t possible./ She called out to the voices.

“Bela!” Her desperation made her voice crack. The voices halted.

“Daniela!” Her voice broke as a sob escaped her. She could hear quick footsteps approaching.

“Cassandra!” She cried. She broke into a run towards the sound of the footsteps. Her dress tangled in her legs and was caught under her foot, both her feet were swept out from under her as she tried to round another corner. She hit the floor with a loud thud that seemed to shake the room. She was dazed for just a moment as the breath was knocked from her. She felt something fall on top of her, warm and soft. She looked up with blurry tear-filled eyes and saw a head of red hair burying itself under her chin, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. There was a jolt of force from beside her as someone else clung to her, all of them shaking. She looked and saw a flash of dark brown hair settle over her shoulder. And finally, one last jostle and Alcina turned again and saw bright blonde hair covering shaking shoulders.

“My sweet girls!” She cried. "Let me look at you, come here.” They all looked up and moved to sit in front of her, tears streaming down each face, each set of eyes red and puffy, all four of them gasping and sobbing, clinging to each other. Alcina grasped each woman’s face in her hands tightly and brought them to her face to kiss them all over and wipe their tears away. Once she had kissed each of them a million times and her mouth was sore from pressing it against her daughters’ faces, she pulled them in as tightly as she could and cried. It was like a dream, sitting there with them again and Alcina prayed that it wouldn’t end. She heard a sound behind her, her head whipped around to look, tightening her hold on her daughters as if they’d be whisked away again. It was the Duke, he simply smiled and nodded to her and turned to leave the room and let the women have their reunion.

Alcina turned back to look at her daughters once more, they all looked at her, eyes wide and red.

“We missed you, Mama,” said Bela sniffling. /Mama/, like music to her ears. Alcina placed a hand on her cheek.

“And I have missed you more than life itself, draga mea.” She said.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

Untitled Baldur's Gate fic part 1/?

I haven't quite thought of a title for this, but have it anyway. It won't be long, I honestly didn't think I'd need multiple parts, but...

Gale/Female high elf MC

Companion peril/death

Violence, Magic, Spiders, maybe smut but later, hurt/comfort

2,469 words

Did some editing with some feedback I got.

Added some dialogue between companions

Looking for a bit of feedback since I'm pretty rusty. Enjoy!

•

The forest murmured quietly with life around the edges of the camp. The midmorning sun shone through light green leaves, leaving the brush and trail below it dappled with light and shadow. Birds flitted through the trees, singing their songs of finding a mate or setting their territories. Tasi carefully packed a few things into her bag as she set out for the day with her companions. She had just emerged from her tent when she heard a sharp sound break the peace. Shouts coming just to her left, close enough she knew they were in the camp. She whipped around to see Gale doubled over, gripping his chest, his face twisted in pain, and Astarion scrabbling away from him on the ground. Black tendrils swirled around Gale, lashing and snapping through the air at everything within a few feet of him. Tasi caught a wisp of black veins running up from under Astarion’s collar and over the backs of his hands as necrotic energy sapped away at him. 

Tasi dropped her pack and rushed to him as Gale dropped to his knees, she could hear him wheeze and gasp in the cloud of black energy. Shadowheart rushed from her tent also hearing the noise already with a prayer of healing glowing around her, it cut through the black roiling coils that sucked the life from all that it touched, and as the bluish-green light fell across Gale his breath eased and he fell into a fit of coughing as air rushed back into him. Tasi picked him up from the ground, helped him to the stone outcropping that their camp sat at the edge of, and sat him upright. His eyes were black and his breath came between wracking coughs, black whisps spilled from his mouth. Tasi looked down at her own hands now, which were wrinkled and greying, black veins writhed beneath her skin. She looked at Gale still sputtering in front of her.

“What is this?” a gruff voice shouted above her, Lae’zel and Wyll had stopped their training to see what the commotion was. 

“I do-” Tasi started.

“I nee- need- *cough* a- I need ma- *coughcoughcough* magic!” Gale sputtered, Tasi’s mind raced for a moment. 

So soon? She thought, He just had something the other day. She gripped the necklace around her neck, it was the only thing she could think of in an emergency and snapped the cord with one swift motion, she pressed it against his chest, his hands rested shaking over hers, violet light shone suddenly whipping out from his chest to envelop their hands. Gale’s head lolled back and his mouth hung open as he hastily absorbed the magic inside the amulet. His throat made a wet sucking sound as though someone had just punctured his lung. The light faded from his chest, his eyes returned to their normal color though Tasi noticed they had rolled to the back of his head, and he slumped forward. She caught him and gently pushed him back so that he was upright once more.

Gale’s eyes had slid closed and Tasi wasn’t sure she could feel him breathing. She turned to the group of her companions standing in shock behind her.

“Wyll!” She barked, “take the gold from my pack, it should be enough for the-” the feeling of a hand that had come to hang limply from her wrist stopped her thought. Her gaze snapped back to Gale.

“I’m alright, now. There’s no need...” he said weakly. He was awake, but his face was sunken and dark circles hung beneath his eyes.

“No, you're not. What in the Nine Hells just happened, Gale?” She hissed. He didn’t look at her, his eyes were staring down at the dirt. He was quiet for a few moments.

“Gale?” Shadowheart’s voice was quiet but pressing, his eyes snapped up to meet hers for a moment before taking in a staggering breath. There was a long moment as the group waited for Gale to compose himself.

“It was the Netherese magic... I thought I had it... under control...” he said, panting heavily.

“Apparently, not,” said Astarion, not unkindly but Wyll shot him a sharp glance.

“Oh c’mon, surely even The Wizard of Wonder can make a mistake sometime,” Wyll’s usually cheery voice poorly hid his concern. He walked to kneel beside Tasi and help Gale to his feet.

“No, Astarion is right, as much as it pains me to say it,” Gale winced as he was stood up, Tasi and Wyll under each of his arms, “I thought I was strong enough to contain its dangers until I found a solution.”

“What will you do now?” asked Shadowheart. There was a long heavy pause.

“What he must,” said Lae’zel, her harsh voice cutting the silence. Gale looked at her, she stared back at him. Though there wasn’t her usual hardness in her face. Her jaw was set and her lips were just a thin line, but her eyes betrayed her. Her brows furrowed and her eyes flicked between Gale’s face and his legs. There was another heavy pause and Gale’s eyes flickered closed as he sighed.

“I’ll do what I must,” he said quietly. Wyll and Tasi walked him back to his tent and laid him on his bedroll. Wyll walked out quickly, leaving Tasi and Gale in the uneasy quiet of the moment.

It was cool in the shade; the breeze made the loose fabric of the tent opening flutter gently. Warm sunlight dappled the walls and top of the tent, making the inside a moving kaleidoscope of speckled dark and light blue hues. Gale had an extra length of canvas he laid on the ground to keep his belongings from laying directly in the dirt and muck. Tasi knelt beside him and made sure he was settled before moving to leave. Gale, with surprising speed, grasped her forearm, stopping her in her tracks.

“I am so sorry,” he said just above a whisper, “this means I must leave you.” A wry smile curled the edge of her lips.

“But not today, or tonight. You’re in no shape to travel,” she said, her brow tensed. She looked down at him, he looked so much smaller than he usually seemed. Gale always had a strong presence about him, his wide and grand gestures as he spoke commanded attention, his caliber of magic commanded respect. But here, now, in this tent, he was so small and weak and frail. The sight of him like this nearly broke her heart. His hand fell to the bedroll with a small thud, she could see his fingers trembling and twitching, sweat glistened where the sun broke through the weaves of the canvas above them. Her eyes flitted to the canvas beneath her knees, “In the meantime, I will take the others and continue to try to find Halsin. Shadowheart will stay with you.”

A burning rose in her chest, she chewed the inside of her lips trying to fight the feeling of dread and heartbreak that coiled like a lich’s claw in her belly. She looked back to him, resolving her voice to stay calm.

“When I return, I will make preparations for you.” She said standing up fully now. Gale followed her with his eyes. The sadness there was clear, but something else Tasi couldn’t quite read was lingering beneath it. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, his eyes fluttered shut once more and a new wave of fear gripped Tasi. She stood and watched him for a moment, she stared for what felt like too long to see his chest gently rising and falling as he slept. She breathed a silent sigh of relief and tucked a stray lock of white hair back behind her pointed ear as she emerged from Gale’s tent. 

She looked up; her companions were gathered nearby. Wyll’s eyes were fixed on her, a look of hope battled the worry on his face as he watched her. Shadowheart was leaning against the stone peering at her from beneath her dark hair, her face in a taut frown. Astarion pretended to sharpen a dagger sitting lazily near a log, but Tasi could see his gaze flick over as he cocked his brow. Lae’zel stood squarely, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression inscrutable. There was a long awkward pause, Tasi took a deep breath and willed her voice to stay even.

  “Wyll, Astarion, and Lae'zel,” She said, her voice low and harsher than she means, “you three will come with me, we will continue to find the druid. Shadowheart, take care of Gale. If anything happens,” Tasi paused for a beat to look at the cleric, “I’ll find you a new spear...” She could see the woman’s shoulders drop slightly, but Shadowheart nodded curtly. Tasi looked at the amulet in her hand, the small bone carving now nothing more than a trinket, her heart sank further. She tied it again around her neck noting how much lighter it felt without the magic it held. She picked up her pack from in front of her tent where it fell as the others prepared their packs leaving just a little sooner than the rest.

--

The day crawled by slowly. Tasi barely paid attention, nearly walking into an ambush in the nearby abandoned town. Had it not been for Astarion snapping her out of her thoughts, she'd have been skewered. Wyll found a lead to a goblin called Spike, who seemed to be hiding farther west in a ruined temple. Tasi recalled the mercenary Aradin from the druid camp mentioning a temple nearby. They searched the town for more clues to a cure, Lae'zel seemed to believe the githyanki pack was near as well.

"Quite tragic, isn't it?" Astarion said quietly as they walked through the ruins of building after building. "Our dear wizard, felled by some new mysterious force."

"Surely there's something we could do," Wyll replied, "Gale is a stronger man than he appears, there's got to be something we can change."

        "Perhaps. It would be a shame to lose such an ally so quickly." 

"I'm sure our fearless leader will think of something, eh, Tasi?" Said Wyll, forcing himself to stay upbeat.

"Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll figure something out." She said, "I have to," she muttered under her breath.

Tasi stopped for a while, sitting in the shade of an overgrown well. She took a coin from her pocket and flicked it with her thumb into the darkness below her, hoping in vain it might bring her a wish. She waited for the plop of the coin breaking the surface of the water below, but it never came. There was a moment of silence, before there was the clinking of the coin hitting stones. She motioned to the rest of the group, now curious what might be in the depths.

Her feet hit the stone at the bottom of the well, she could see now the large maze of tunnels before her covered in thick spiderweb. One of them lit a torch for Wyll and Lae’zel. The group picked their way carefully through the tunnels, avoiding the webs and wrapped carcasses of captured and entangled prey.

There was a sudden shriek in the darkness around them, they could see the webs tremble and the sounds of skittering legs and clicking mandibles surrounded them. There was a flash of blue and a great blue and white spider appeared in front of Astarion, it attempted to catch him in it's fangs but he was too quick. Lae’zel brought her dazzling greatsword down, cleaving it in half in one sweeping move. There was another flash of light above them as second spider appeared in a canopy of webs, spitting venom down at them. It hit Wyll and Lae'zel, both seemed to shake it off however, Wyll's skin began to blister where the venom soaked in. He returned the favor with a beam of eldritch energy blasting from his palm, it knocked the spider down from the web canopy and onto its back on the ground before them. Tasi raced to it, jabbing both her shortswords into its body with a sickening, crunching squelch; the creature hissed as its legs twitched in the air curling in on itself, dead. 

There was a moment of silence, Tasi turned to check on the group; she saw Astarion struggling, in his haste to move away from the spiders, he'd found himself entangled in the webs that lined the walls of the tunnels.

"Stop!" She exclaimed, keeping her voice low. She stepped toward him, her hand outstretched, "Don't move, you'll-"

Another shriek, louder this time but further down the tunnel. They all turned to look down the tunnel, staring with bated breath. Tasi looked back to Astarion, his red eyes were wide with fear, his hand reached for his daggers but was caught in the webs behind him. She used her swords to begin cutting him loose. She felt the ground beneath her begin to shudder, like a pair of oxen galloping past. She looked back down the tunnel to see a massive blue and white spider, filling the space of the tunnel ahead. Its ruby colored eyes glinting in the torch light; it hissed loudly as it spotted them.

"Get me out, get me out, GET ME OUT!" Astarion shouted, pleading quickly to Tasi.

"I'm trying!" She shouted back at him, hacking furiously at the webs around him. He squirmed and writhed, pulling away from the wall; finally, the last of the web was cut away and he was free. Astarion eyes narrowed as he stretched a hand out in front of him, pointing to a space just behind the giant spider.

"Invenium viam!" He shouted, his voice echoing off the stone. Suddenly, in a flourish and a swirl of black smoke he disappeared from in front of Tasi and reappeared in the space he pointed to. He gave his daggers a quick twirl in his fingers before lunging into an attack at the spider's rear. Lae’zel charged at its head raising her sword above her head, screaming as she brought it down; black blood sprayed onto the stone ground and the spider reeled back screeching in pain. In a flash it disappeared and reappeared behind them, in front of the bottom of the well. The fight was quick but brutal, ending with Wyll casting a spell that sounded like a close up lightning strike and Astarion picking Tasi and Lae'zel up off the ground. They all took a little while to catch their breath and tend to their wounds; after a while Tasi pressed on into the caves. She faced a jagged ledge that seemed to just fall away into oblivion. She sat at its edge and was quickly lost in thought.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

There is a certain sound

There is a certain sound one makes when staring down the barrel of loneliness and fighting off the dread that creeps softly over the back, up the neck, and sucks the air from your chest. The sound is weak. It's between a wail and a whimper. A ghost in an empty house. It sounds like death. It's a siren call for her. She edges closer on one's thoughts, beckoning gently.

One can see her in the mind's eye, a noose in your hands, sitting in the car as the garage fills with carbon monoxide. She's there, a hand gently on a shoulder, a soft whisper of, "it'll be alright when it's over." One might begin to close in further on oneself, to stave off spoiling a big day belonging to someone else, to not be a burden.

Ghosts must be terribly lonely. They make this sound often, though Death has already come for them. They cannot reach out. They cannot call their friends. They cannot have peace. They must indeed be terribly lonely.

I have made that sound, moments before writing this. I have wailed and whimpered in despair. I want to call on my friends to help me. But Death keeps a leash on my mind, she has claimed that part of me and I can't break free. I will wail and whimper in silence as I watch the world move forward. Without me.

I am left knowing I wasn't enough. I let go the love of my life. And I have fallen down because of it.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

WITCH LOVE

“If you’re going to build something new then you need to build it while everyone is asleep,” the witch tells me. She picks her frozen daiquiri up off the floor and brings the straw to her face. She misses her mouth and hits herself in the cheek with the straw and then aims it back towards her mouth. She sucks back on her frozen strawberry booze, pulling in her cheeks as she stares down at the Tarot card spread she’s laid out for me. I smile. Her boozy heart is warming me up.

“Why do they all have to be asleep?” I ask her.

“Because you don’t have anyone around you who truly believes in you, at least not where you’re living currently,” she says. “If you build it while they’re awake, they’re all going to try and convince you that you can’t do it. Keep your gifts to yourself. There’s no need to splash them out into the public every chance that you get. There are people who don’t want you to succeed because they’re intimated by your candor. Lay your bricks when nobody is looking. Don’t give any away. Don’t let anyone borrow any of them. And don’t let anyone steal from you. Create what you need by building what you want, and don’t let anyone see it until it’s finished. It’s nobody’s business but your own.”

“I heard that,” I say. “Fuck everyone.” The witch reaches across the table and lightly slaps my face.

“Stop that!” She shouts/slurs. “Your heart is heavy enough as it is. Don’t weigh it down with anymore of that negativity,” she says, pointing her finger at me. I smile again. “How long have you been coming here?” she asks. “I know I’ve seen you here before. I remember your energy. It’s always been so heavy.”

“I’ve been coming here since I was 19 or so,” I say. “I got my first Tarot deck here. You picked it out for me.”

“Was it a Rider Waite deck?” “It was, but I don’t have it anymore. I left it down by the river one day.”

“Why’d you do that?” she says around the straw in her mouth. She chews the end of it a bit as she stares at me and then sucks back on her blood-red daiquiri.

“Because I was tired of always trying to know everything. I was so afraid all the time of what was coming, and I couldn’t accept the fact that there was no way of knowing anything for sure.” “So you’re telling me that you didn’t like what the cards had to tell you?”

“Right. I was tired of trying to achieve approval from a deck of cards. And The Rider Waite deck is so heavy. The imagery is too gruesome, too morbid.”

“The imagery is honest,” she says. “Each card is a tangible window into the root of every feeling, and it’s conveyed in a way that people don’t always like to see because they’re afraid of their emotions. The Three of Swords, for example: It’s a picture of heart being stabbed three ways from Sunday, bleeding and pumping its own blood onto the floor. But isn’t that exactly what being betrayed feels like? When you have your heart broken, doesn’t it feel like your chest is full of knives? People don’t like to confront their emotions; they don’t want to accept their story when it involves someone that they love plunging not one, but three knives into their hearts. The cards are all very subjective, as you already know, but the surface level meaning of that card is heartache, and I don’t care who you are, everyone’s had their heart chained up and dragged through the dirt at some point—but the point of that card is, even though your heart may have been drawn and quartered and splattered and stabbed and stomped on—

—The witch has become very emphatic as she speaks about the heart, and slaps her hand on the table when she says the words “splattered”, “stabbed”, and “stomped”—

“somehow, the heart still manages to beat. Honestly, I find it cathartic to see it portrayed in such a gruesome way, because that’s how I feel when my heart is broken. And when you accept the way something feels, and accept the fact that nothing can be done about it, that’s when you learn how to move on and and gain the strength that it takes to progress through the Wheel of Life. The cards are brutal in their depictions so you understand the honesty of your situation—and to help you find the nerve to confront things head on so you can find the will to carry on with your life when everything falls apart.”

She leans back in her chair and dramatically crosses one leg over the other, brings the straw of her daiquiri to her lips and takes a giant slurp.

“But I understand why you gave them away,” she says. “Sometimes you have to spend some time being still and accept the fact that you know nothing in order for the right thing to happen.”

Stillness is a dream I’ve always had for myself; having the water of my mind be smooth and placid for once in my life, even if it doesn’t last forever. I smile at the witch. I’m very fond of her. I’ve been fond of her for all eight years that Ive been coming to her shop, always dropping in from time to time when I feel like I need someone to tell me what to do.

“Can I tell you something?” I say.

“Sure, kid,” she says. “Shoot.”

“I think I’m coming up on a time in my life where I’m going to be challenged in a way that I may not be able to survive.”

“What makes you say that,” she says, smiling flirtatiously. And her smile horrifies me, because I know what her smile is telling me. She may as well have looked me dead in the eyes and told me that I was right.

I stare at her nervously, and she continues to sit there with that smile, holding her daiquiri up by her shoulder with her legs still crossed. She looks beautiful, poised and elegant. I don’t say anything.

“When life comes for us,” she says, “it comes for us because it needs us to respond, because it expects more from us. What people seem to forget is that survival is an option, and that you always have a say in your own survival. The cards are about survival, triumph, love—how we find our way to those things even when we’re pulled into the darkness. They’re here to guide you to the road that will lead you back home when you lose your way.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “Do you feel like you’ve lost your way, my love,” she says.

I look down at her hand that’s resting on top of mine. I pull my hand out from under hers and lay it on top.

“I’m beginning to,” I say. “And I know that I’m going to, and I know that that’s unavoidable for me.”

“Along the way,” she says, “just remember what I said. Don’t let anyone steal from you. If you lose yourself, hold on to the things that make you who you are. If you do that, then you’ll never be all the way lost. Your identity is what will put you back on the road to achieving your destiny, and sometimes we have to feel like we’ve lost ourselves in order to find out who we were always meant to be.”

She leans back in her chair again and takes a slurp.

“But what make you so goddamn sure that you’re going to fuck it all up,” she says, trying to be funny, but her eyes soften in that moment, and for a split second I can tell that she wishes that she could save me from what’s coming. I look down at the spread.

“I just know,” I say.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

The Pear

The morning sun shone hot in the sky above as the marketplace bustled around her; a woman, young, tawny colored hair, lightly burned skin, stood on a corner in the shade of a wood building, staring idly at the crowd. She sighed as her finger played lazily over her lips. She felt her stomach rumble and checked her coin purse. Empty. Of course. Her eyes flicked back to the crowd, head low now. She needed to eat, and those pears looked awfully tempting.

              Normally, Saga wouldn’t be one for thievery, but she had no coin, and no way to get any. She pulled her hood up and stepped into the light of the sun. She took a deep breath and headed down the street out of sight of the food vendors before turning down an alley and heading back towards them. She watched from the dark alleyways as passed hundreds of people, not one of them seeing her. She kept her eyes peeled on the main street, she saw the vendors, heard them calling out their wares. The smell of fresh baked breads, cooked meats, and steamed veggies filled her nose, making her stomach grumble again. It edged her forward, passed the vendors. She headed towards the main street and watched a guard patrol pass her in the alley, neither one seemed to notice her. She emerged from behind them watching them.

              The smell of the vendors continued tempting her as they came into full view. Saga caught sight of the fruit vendor, the pears sat at the front of the stall, pale and fresh and fragrant. She sped up a little, passing closely to the stall, her hand slipped over a succulent pear and she quickly stashed it in her satchel. She walked a bit further, an apple joined the pear, then a mango, then a few lychee berries before she left that stall. She passed the bread vendor; a small loaf was whisked into her satchel as her eyes scanned the crowd. She crossed  the dirt path to the dried meats, a few strips plopped in. She could feel the weight of her bag on her shoulder and hip. Finally, she made her way to some fresh vegetables, she grabbed a small head of lettuce, a radish, then a tomato. That’s when she felt a hard, wooden board and cascade of small tomatoes gather around her feet. The board hit her ankle causing her to yelp in pain, drawing the attention of the vendor; a squat Halfling woman with dark skin, a head of bushy, black hair spilling over her shoulders, and a kind face. The woman hopped down from her stool and rushed over to Saga.

              “Oh, I’m so sorry, dearie. I’ve been meaning to fix that board for weeks!” she squeaked as she bent down to pick up the board, she turned and pushed the nails back into their place, then began picking up the tomatoes. Saga hurriedly squatted down and also began quickly stuffing tomatoes back onto the shelf. Suddenly, she was jostled from behind and stumbled forward, falling to one knee, and catching herself on one hand. She closed her eyes, realizing she never closed her bag and a head of lettuce, a radish, and an apple tumbled onto the ground. She opened one eye and saw complete shock on the woman’s face. The woman’s eyes darted between Saga and the vegetables and fruit on the ground. “You-!” and before the woman could finish Saga stuffed the items back into her bag as fast as she could. “GUARDS! THIEF!” shouted the woman, jumping up and down, catching the eyes of so many around them. Saga turned and saw the two guards from the patrol a few minutes ago drawing their weapons. Saga took off into the crowd, closing her bag.

              She could hear the guards close behind her shouting for her to stop. A smirk slid across her face as she slipped down an alleyway. The chase was on. She turned right, then left, then vaulted over a pile of refuse. She looked towards the main streets, hearing shouting she saw two more guards come barreling down the alley towards her on her left. She ran right and hit a dead-end, sort of. She looked up the tall stone wall and glanced behind her, four guards appeared from around the corner. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears as they approached her, scowls and sneers plastered on their faces. Saga looked back to the wall, moving to the corner. She leapt up, her feet pushing off one wall and further up the other, as she lost a bit of momentum, she used her feet and hands to hold her between the walls in the corner, then she spider climbed up and onto the roof, taking off again.

              Saga dashed across the rooftops, but she wouldn’t lose the guard so easily. The shouting drew attention from a nearby stationary rooftop patrol. Armed with a crossbow the singular guard drew her crossbow. Saga heard the bolt ping off the terracotta shingle just behind her, then another shattered to her right. She jumped up on a taller building, she could hear the guards shouting to each other her location. She jumped across an alley just to be met with a guard climbing a lattice dead ahead of her. She skidded to a stop and changed her direction. She ran towards the north edge of the building, the street between buildings was too wide. She looked for an escape as the guard closed in behind her. She saw a clothesline stretching across the gap. Saga glanced behind her and saw the glint of a raised sword, she spun around as it came crashing down into the stonework beside her. Heart pounding louder, chest heaving for air, she balled up her fist and threw a wild punch. It landed squarely on his jaw, the guard stumbled back clutching his face and cursing. Another guard rushed forward towards her. She was ready this time and jabbed twice, once in his shoulder and once in his nose, before he even readied his sabre. He doubled over, shouting his pain as she took off to the clothesline.

She jumped down onto it and bowed greatly under her weight before bouncing back up, she took a moment to steady herself, trying to stay upright. Slowly she stood up, arms out beside her to keep her balance as she moved forward. She looked down and saw three guards staring up at her in amazement. One of them reeled back and threw a javelin, Saga lurched forward, the javelin clattered to the ground below. She flailed a moment to keep from falling, one foot after the other she made her way shakily across. She bounced the clothesline, gaining momentum as another javelin crashed against the wall. As the clothesline began to rebound upward, she used the force to lift up to the roof above. She lifted herself up as an arrow whistled past her ear. All this for some food? She thought to herself as she raced to the next building.

She was just a bit short, the tips of her fingers hooked onto the gutter as her body slammed against the wall. She felt the breath forced from her chest and her vision went blurry for a second. She felt her fingers begin to slip as she scrambled and kicked her feet against the wall to lift herself up. She crouched there on the roof, her chest burning, her heart pounding like a war drum in her chest. She placed a hand on her chest feeling it hammer against her rib cage. She took a deep breath as she tried to listen for a moment, she could still hear shouting, though it didn’t seem close. Thinking for a moment she was safe, Saga looked through her bag and pulled out the pear.

She held it gently in her hand, admiring its perfection before going in to take a bite. Her mouth never found the pear as she saw a flash of movement before it vanished from her fingers. She looked and saw it pinned to the roof with a crossbow bolt. Her shoulders dropped and her brow furrowed as she glanced out over the city behind her. A lone guard stood four buildings away, crossbow still aimed. Saga stood facing the guard and threw her hands up.

“Really, man?” she shouted, frustration and disappointment cracking it. Another bolt whizzed toward her. She caught it between her hands, an inch from her nose, “well, fuck you too, then, I guess,” she muttered under her breath as she flung it off to the side. Saga turned and plucked the pear and bolt from the roof, she disappeared once again just beyond the crest of the tiled roof.

She looked around, taking stock of where she’d ended up. She saw a few towers, some large lyceum looking building with a large green courtyard. Little black figures could be seen racing to and fro across the lawns. Some taller buildings were scattered about as well. All of the nearby structures looked similar, deep brown or tan bricks, tall narrow windows, large heavy looking doors, flat roofs. Probably the Academic Ward, she thought, definitely the Academic Ward. A ruckus down below snapped her out of her thoughts, a troupe of six guards were rushing towards her, plowing over some poor students as they raised their weapons, one of them carried a ladder with them. Saga stared blankly for a moment, determined fucks, it’s just some food. Saga’s eyes darted around for an escape, again. The tall building just in front of her looked promising, as long as she could keep moving up. She took a few steps back and rolled her neck. She bounded forward, gaining speed, racing towards the edge of the roof, praying this would work, she pushed off with all her strength immediately snapping her feet in front of her. She felt the wall under the ball of her feet and stretched up, reaching for the ledge. One step. Push. Two step. Push. Come on. Reach. Her fingertips brushed it. Nearly there. Her palm scraped the edge. Grab it. All sound except for her breathing disappeared. Her feet slipped out from under her on the wall and she felt stillness. She hung in the air just a moment before she herself falling, for just a moment.

She felt her arm pull and her body hit the wall. She made it, just barely. She scrambled up the wall, a ladder clattered next to her and the shouting came back in full force. She pulled herself up on the wall, she took one step forward and fell, smacking her face on the roof. She heard the heavy footsteps of more guards coming up the ladder. She looked back and saw them quickly climbing the wall and surrounding her. She stood up, two of them pushed their swords at her and she froze.

“Gods damn it, stop fucking running,” a gruff voice rang out, a woman bringing up the back had finally made her way over to her; a tall Elven woman, her red hair in a tightly braided bun, which was now loosening with some strands sticking to her forehead as sweat streamed down her face. Her armor was a bit more ornate than the others, a captain maybe. “You’re fucking under arrest for theft and assault.” She said breathlessly. A cranky bitch that’s for sure.

“Assault? I did no such thing. Steal, sure, but I didn’t hurt anyone,” Saga said confused, “Look, I’ll give back the food, but I’ll challenge that other charge.” Saga wiped the sweat from her own brow.

“So, my lieutenant has a broken nose for no reason?” she growled. Saga blinked.

“Ah, that.” She mumbled. She looked and saw a guards with a swollen face and black eyes, blood trickling down his lips.

“Chain her!” the Elven woman barked as she turned away, one man stepped forward, shackles in hand and open. Saga shook her head and took a step back. Quick as lightning, her fists shot forward, earning a yelp from the man as he stumbled back, another one stepped up. Her foot landed with a crack across his face, he fell to one knee grasping his jaw. She felt two arms wrap around her shoulders and lift her off the ground, she leaned back, picking up her feet. Using her weight, she rocked forward with all her might, kicking her feet out, grabbing her assailant’s wrists, she threw him over her shoulder, slamming him into the ground. Hands up, she thought, hands up to protect the face. And just in time, as her arm caught and deflected a blow from a blade. Hot, searing pain shot through her arm. She backed up, avoiding another blow to her ribs. Her opponent swinging wildly, Saga waited for an opening. Her many years of training and meditating were good for at least one thing, she thought as she grabbed the other woman’s neck and slammed her nose into her knee, she slumped to the ground and did not stand back up. Saga took off running once again, shaking her head. She didn’t go  far until she realized, she really had nowhere to go from here. Except down. Roughly forty feet down. Fuck. She looked at her arm, blood poured from her arm, dripping from her fingers to the brown bricks. She turned and watched the remaining three guards close in on her.

The captain looked absolutely livid, Saga couldn’t tell if it was the chase or her anger that made her face so red. Saga clutched her bag, thankful she still had her food in there. She tried to take a step back, but she felt her heel go over the edge and so tried to stand her ground. It’d really be worse if she tried fighting anymore. She glanced down one more time. She could make it, right? Going to have to test this theory sooner or later, may as well make it sooner.

Saga threw her hands up, leaned back and let herself fall over the edge. The look of shock and anger on the Elven woman’s face will always be with Saga, an amusing memory of a great day. She twisted around and got her feet under her, she hit the ground on all fours and rolled. She laid on her back, pain blurring her vision. She blinked and saw the three guards staring down at her from the rooftop, utterly stunned. Saga stood up, brushed herself off and walked calmly down another alley towards the outer rim of the city. She felt her bag, it was dry, she peeked in, all the food seemed intact. She made her way out of the city, into the surrounding farmland.

Saga walked for a few hours until the sun began to set, she made her way to the top of a hill. There were a few trees clustered there and she sat nestled in the roots and watched the sun set behind the city. After some time, she reached into her bag and ate some of her food. She dug for her precious pear and didn’t feel it. She looked and didn’t see it. Maybe she stuck it in a pocket, she searched herself frantically, no sign of the pear. Then she remembered the fight on the rooftop in the Academic Ward. She recalled the small splat as she surrendered momentarily. Deep disappointment welled up inside her and her face scrunched up, fighting back tears. Saga buried her face in her hands.

“I dropped the fucking pear.” She whimpered.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

The Trouble with Wolves Part 1. (Read Preface down below for some context.)

            The day started with a mission, a mission just like any other: someone needed the Inquisition and the team rose to the challenge. The job was a small one; a pack of possessed wolves terrorized a small area of the Hinterlands, near Redcliffe. This time, it would just be three of them; Cassandra, Solas and the Inquisitor herself, Nanyla Lavellan. They had been wandering the Hinterlands most of the morning, as the sun reached its highest peak in the sky when they found a cave. Bones littered the ground at the entrance, blood and flesh pooled in depressions of the stone floor further in. Nanyla ventured towards the cave, she found a bit of cloth on the ground and picked it up to observe it.

           “This must be the wolves’ lair,” said Cassandra, they sneaked up to the cave entrance, Nanyla leaned in and listened for a moment. The sound of the air moving through the cave masked whatever noise the wolves were making. She signaled for her friends to stay back as she ventured further in. She ventured into the cave and was swallowed in darkness. Nanyla kept her hand pressed against the damp wall of the cave as she walked. She could feel something crunch underfoot as she went along, she didn't stop to find out what it was; though, she could hazard a guess. Just a few minutes later, she saw a light and followed it. The ceiling of the cave opened up and sunlight poured in. From her hiding place in the dark, she could see the pack, they were agitated, pacing and fighting amongst each other. There were perhaps less than a dozen or so wolves, some looked weak and ill, others looked more formidable. Above them, on a ledge sitting on a sun-warmed stone was a demon lounging and watching his thralls below. It was tall and lean with long limbs reaching disproportionate lengths. Its disturbing form was covered in dull, sickly green flesh with darker scaly patches covering its crooked joints. Nanyla took stock of this creature from the Fade and crept carefully back to her comrades. She told them what she found in the back of the cave. Solas furrowed his brow.

           “Sounds like it could be a lesser terror demon,” he said flatly, “It will not be difficult to defeat with the three of us.” Nanyla nodded and thought for a moment.

           “Okay then, Cassandra and I will take the wolves. Solas, you’ll take the terror from a distance. I’ll help you if I can.” Nanyla’s voice was smooth and calm as she gave out her plan. She was confident in her friends and her ability to lead, she had been doing it a while by now. She looked at her friends, she watched them prepare themselves for the fight.

           “Ready?” she asked, a crooked smile curling her lips. Cassandra and Solas readied themselves; Solas closed his eyes, inhaled and charged his staff. Cassandra drew her sword, rolled her neck back and forth, loosened her shoulders and took her shield from it’s place on her back. Nanyla drew an arrow, readied it on her bow and she cracked her neck. She beckoned them to follow and led them through the dark cave to the pack and the demon. The few moments of darkness were unbearably tense and quiet. She found the light again, she made sure her companions saw it too. She slid up to the edge of the darkness and drew back her bow and aimed at one of the stronger looking wolves. She breathed in, paused, then out, she steadied her hand. With a twang, her arrow flew true to it’s target, it stuck in the wolf’s neck. It yelped and collapsed drawing the attention of the rest of the pack and the demon. There was a moment of complete silence in the chamber since the pack moved in there. The next moment Cassandra charged forward, fierce as a dragon she slayed her adversaries, one after the other. As quick as lightning, Nanyla drew another arrow, aimed, and fired; down went a wolf that weaseled its way behind Cassandra. She stepped out from the shadows and caught the eye of a few wolves, they charged her, but she was quicker. Arrow after arrow, she fired nearly as fast as Varric’s Bianca. Solas leapt onto a ledge close to Nanyla and worked his Fade magic on the terror demon. The demon roared its fury; it stretched its ugly arms above its head, slammed them on the ground. Raking its ragged claws across the ground, it tore open a portal on the stone, then it slipped through. A moment later, Nanyla felt a force lift her off the ground and slam her back down. She was face to face with the terror, it raised a clawed hand but was pushed away with a blast from Solas’s staff. Nanyla jumped up and pulled a pair of daggers from her hip. She lashed out at the demon and left a long, open gash on its front. She kicked it backward and it stumbled long enough for Solas to finish it off with a veilstrike. She watched the demon fall the ground and fade away, she turned to Solas and nodded a silent thanks. A few wolves slipped past them, escaping through the cave’s entrance. Their howls created an eerie sound that nearly deafened them. Once the howling subsided, Nanyla could still hear fighting, she looked around and saw Cassandra still fighting three of the wolves. Two of them held her attention to the front while one dodged behind her. Nanyla took aim, but it was too late. It had leapt up onto Cassandra’s back and latched onto her neck. She fell, her sword and shield clattering out of her grasp.

Nanyla dropped her daggers and gabbed her bow once more. She notched, took aim, and immediately loosed an arrow, it missed by mere inches. She watched as the other two wolves closed in, each taking a turn to tear at the woman now pinned to the ground. Blood-curdling shrieks, the sounds of claw against metal, the sound of tearing, cries of pain, snarling, and growling now filled the space of the chamber. Nanyla watched in frozen horror at the writhing mass of fur and armor and limbs on the ground. She focused hard, reloaded, fired, and struck one of the wolves in the eye, it fell where it stood. She aimed again, but a ball of fire arched past her and knocking the remaining two back. One of the wolves stood up and ran off, the other reared back and fell over, dead. Cassandra did not move.

“Cassandra?” Nanyla’s voice rang too loudly in the small cavern. Still, there was silence and stillness as Cassandra’s crumpled form lay on the ground. They ran to their fallen companion and saw the damage that had been done to her.

The smell of burning hair and flesh made the two of them grimace, the sound of simmering flesh still whispered its presence on the burned wolf. Cassandra’s armor had been wrenched away, the leather straps holding it in place having been chewed and ripped like parchment in the fray. It was mottled in blood, dirt, and saliva; nicked and scratched and bent, it hung haphazardly from her body. Her clothes had been shredded and tattered underneath as open wounds poured blood onto what were once fresh garments, staining them dark red. Blood pooled around her body and soaked into the grass and dirt around her.

Quickly, Nanyla knelt down and gently rolled Cassandra onto her back. She let out a soft gasp as she saw the marks left by the wolves on Cassandra’s face, marks sure to leave new scars. She hovered a hand closely over Cassandra’s nose and mouth, Nanyla could feel the slight warmth of her breath brush against her damp palm.

“Solas, she’s still- she’s still alive, give me a potion!” she said, panic rising in her chest. Solas had already been rummaging through his satchel as fast as his hands would allow when he saw how extensive the damage was. A potion was already in Nanyla’s hand before she finished speaking. She pulled the stopper out with her teeth, tilted Cassandra’s head back gingerly, and carefully poured the clear potion between her parted bloody lips. It seemed like an eternity before Nanyla could feel her stirring, the blood seemed to have staunched itself; Cassandra gasped then coughed, a globule of blood spattered against Nanyla’s face as more trickled down out of the corner of Cassandra’s lips. Her eyes fluttered as her hand shot up and grasped at Nanyla’s coat, her lapel now in a vice grip in the Seeker’s fist. Nanyla looked up at Solas with desperation, “Please, there must be more you can do, a spell, anything,” she pleaded. Solas nodded.

“There is something. Please, give me some room,” he said softly, kneeling down next to them. He set his staff to the side and took a deep breath. Nanyla scooted over to give him space to work. Solas raised his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. He began to mutter Elvhen under his breath, his face contorted into one of deep focus and concentration as he moved his hands to hover over Cassandra’s body. Slowly, he moved his hands over her, blue streams of light emitted from his fingertips and laid over her wounds and began to sink in. Some of the shallower wounds seemed to begin to close. At the same time, Cassandra jolted, arching her back, as an excruciating wail flew from her throat. Nanyla darted around to Cassandra’s other side to hold her hand, cooing softly to her. As Solas chanted, Cassandra became more and more agitated, her face twisted with pain and she agonized under his steady hands. “Hold her still, I am not finished,” Solas said sharply, sweat beading over his brows. Nanyla placed her hands on either of Cassandra’s shoulders to hold her down, still shushing and cooing, mainly to Cassandra, but also to calm herself.  The light seemed to grow brighter with each passing second as Solas continued to chant in Elvhen more fervently. Cassandra’s eyes shot open and rolled back as she let out one last scream and fell limp under Nanyla’s grasp. Solas’s shoulders went slack and his hands fell to his thighs, the blue light faded from him. “I’ve done what I can do for now, but she needs to get to Skyhold.” He said, his breathing was labored and ragged and his voice was hoarse.

“We are days away, Solas,” Nanyla’s voice was racked with panic, she fought to stay calm as Cassandra laid unconscious between them. “What did you do to her?” Nanyla's eyes darted over Cassandra's body, still riddled with large deep wounds, blood seemed to bubble up over them, fighting against magical barriers.

“I did what little healing I could do. I imagine the pain became quite unbearable, she must’ve lost consciousness because of it.” He said, standing up, his breathing still heavy. Solas held out a hand to help Nanyla stand. She could see his fingertips trembling, she imagined the energy it took from him just to do what he did. She took it and stood beside him, looking down at Cassandra. Nanyla could feel her knees begin to quiver. Her mind began racing, thinking where to go, what to do. Then a thought ocurred to her: the next best place to take Cassandra would be the camp near Redcliffe Farms, where Master Dennet kept his horses.

“The farm, Solas, we could bring her to the camp on the farm, they could have a field nurse,” she said quickly, her voice became thin as her adrenaline raced through her. Again, Solas didn’t say much, he simply nodded and knelt down to try to carry Cassandra. Nanyla bent down to help. They spent a few moments to try and work together to arrange Cassandra comfortably between the two of them.

[writings-of-an-introvert]

The Trouble with Wolves Preface

So, lots of people are familiar with Dragon Age and its installments. I love DA:I, it’s one of my absolute favorite games of all time. 

I also love dark fantasy, which DA is, but I wanted to take it further. I always had this idea that healing potions should hurt like a bitch. I mean, when something, like a traumatic wound, is healing, it usually itches, or aches to some degree. Well, a healing potion greatly hurries the healing process along, magnifying the speed of the rate of healing, right? So, my next thought would be, “so would the aches and itches be magnified too?” I mean, you could say "magic is a painkiller," but what fun would that be? And what fun would it be if it didn't leave scars or if the process of healing magic and potions wasn't fully known and therefore not very powerful?

This au fic is just me running through that idea. It’s kind of this idea of sort of blending the difficulty and poor survival chances of Dark Souls into what I already love about Dragon Age, which is a lot.