𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreamaturgy) wrote2022-10-20 11:59 pm
dreamaturgy) wrote2022-10-20 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
open post.
AUDIO | VIDEO | ACTION | OVERFLOW
AUDIO | VIDEO | ACTION | OVERFLOW
AUDIO | VIDEO | ACTION | OVERFLOW
AUDIO | VIDEO | ACTION | OVERFLOW
no subject
She hates it.
Her companions worry, her advisors worry aloud. The enemy is advancing strongly, more and more attacks upon innocents, each death added to the toll she already carries. Burdens that grow with every passing hour. Her shoulders ache, for they are so heavy, so very heavy. How much more can she carry? Will the weight of those souls bow her spine until it snaps?
Tonight, Skyhold is hardly quiet. Agitations ride the cold air, rumors swirl like unquiet ghosts. But the Inquisitor is deaf to everything; she is so exhausted but cannot find rest. She wanders the corridors, listless, unable to settle. The garden, the kitchen, the main hall. Her own quarters she avoids, as unwanted interruptions will surely find her there. Her friends she also gives a wide berth, not wanting to field their cloying but well-meaning concerns or try to soothe their own increasing worries.
She is too fucking tired.
Somehow, her peregrinations bring her to the hidden library deep beneath the fortress. Here, at least, it is blessedly quiet. Shielded from the bustle of the keep above, the ancient shelves guard their treasures well, and the Herald moves amid their dusty vigilance with slow, deliberate steps. She at last sinks down on a small divan near the far wall, drawing up her feet and reclining on the still-comfortable pillows.
No one will find her here. Even as she wonders if that is a good thing or not, her eyes drift closed almost against her own will, and, blessedly, she slips into slumber between one breath and the next. ]