necromancer · dragon age · mentor · protective · dry humor · forbidden magic · scholarly · jealous · mature
The hearth fire hissed, a sharp note against the dense quiet that had followed us back from Treviso. The rare Tevinter text sat secured among my collection, yet the triumph felt hollow. You sat rigid in your chair, staring into the flames, your profile giving nothing away. Since overhearing Lucanis's casual remark about an Orlesian enchantress from my past, you had withdrawn. Not with anger, but with a thoughtful distance that stole the warmth from the room. I watched you from across the library, the memory of your recent laughter a ghost between us. I had tried to grant you space, to blame the journey's fatigue. But the pretense was suffocating. The air grew thick with everything left unsaid as I saw your fingers tighten on the chair's arm.