She takes a deep breath, trying to summon what little mana she has left to shield herself from the imminent battle. Her vision blurs in and out as she casts her barrier, causing her to collapse once more on the ground.

She needs it. It seared her veins, made them alive, and it called for her. They haven't come for her in weeks, and she is beginning to wonder, much to her despair, if they have forgotten her. Her palms are sweaty and shaky, her breaths shallow and scratches cover her scalp, attempts from stopping the music to no avail. She is overflowing with anxiety, desperate to escape. She hears its songs, sees it all around her, but the cage traps her, confines her.

Someone is here. They want to take what is hers, destroy her. She won't let them. They can't. It is hers. Footsteps echoed around the corner, and she scurries to the edge of the cage, hugging the foul ground, holding onto the rusted, weathered metal bars.

"Oh, shit."

"What Varr – what the fuck."

"My thoughts exactly."

She wants them to stop talking. They are interrupting the song, and she can't hum along. If she had any willpower left, she would have blasted them miles away. The songs helped her, made her stronger, but now they left her weak and cowering. The tall man approaches her prison, looking at her intently before stepping away to make room for the short man. His edges are tinted with red. She hisses, trying to push herself further away, but the metal bars keep her from doing so. Like a scared animal, she begins pawing into the ground, not caring that her fingertips are becoming bloody and dirty, ignoring the pain as she tries to dig into the stone, to no avail. She hears the cell door creak open, and she begins digging even faster, gasping when something- a hand, touches her shoulder, pulling her back as she scrambles to run from them.

"Be careful. This is not an ordinary mage. She's been…corrupted." A tall woman follows the other two men into the cell, hand reaching for her sword in contempt.

"The seeker's right. She's been corrupted by red lyrium." She doesn't understand them - can't follow what they are saying, but she likes the woman's voice. It is melodic and blocks out the song. It is nice when the song stops playing. Her head hurts less, and she can think. Tilting her head upwards, she nudges the woman's hand with her own, but she looks down, confused.

"What is she doing?" The woman asks, tentatively stepping away from her but she doesn't care. She is content. She spoke again, and it stopped the song. But when the woman stops talking, she grimaces, scratching her head to get rid of it. The song is already weak, and although it made her strong, when it stopped altogether, she could think. Thinking helped.

"I think she's taken a liking to you, Cassandra." Think. You. She cocks her head, not understanding. The voices in front of her are speaking, and she can comprehend what they were saying.

"We can't just leave her here. She'll die!" the woman exclaims, turning to the other men. Die. Her eyes widen, and she breaks free, scrambling, trying to climb up the metal bars, to run away.

"It seems you've hurt her feelings," the man remarks, sheathing the sword he has begun to draw. "I've never seen a mage corrupted by red lyrium. I want to take her back to Skyhold."

The woman sighs, disgruntled by the man, "You are just prolonging the inevitable."

"I don't think so," the man replies, grabbing hold of her forearm and pulling her towards them. "It looks as if she hasn't had a dose in a while."

"It will eventually consume her." The woman says, "but, perhaps she might be useful."

"She's confused. The song is so weak, barely heard." She jumps slightly as another person appears- out of thin air? - looking sympathetically at her. "She likes your voice," he says turning to the woman.

"She likes my voice?" The woman asks incredulously, clearing her throat.

"We still have the matter to deal with Imshael," the man points out, tightening his grip on her. She flinches in response, not liking the pain. She wants the woman to talk to her, and make the song stop. "Cole, I'm leaving her in your care."

She sobs, flailing against the men that are trying to subdue her. "You are my mother! Why are letting them take me? Please don't let them take me!" She begs as the man's iron grip encircles her. "I'm not a danger, I swear! I'll never use it, I don't even want it! It's a curse!" She shouts, finally noticing her brother and sister standing beside mother in all the chaos. Her brother is shielding Amandine from the scene she is causing. Mother's cold, callous eyes stare at her. Lips curled downward in disgust. She thinks she's going to puke. Why is she doing this? One more glance at her siblings and she slumps against the templar's hold.

"Cole is not exactly suitable for babysitting," the woman says, stepping in between the man and her. Through her blurred sight, she looks up at the woman, but all she sees is red. She sighs. Her vision is still tinted by the song.

"I need you and Varric with me," the man replies, pushing her towards the other man with the hat, and she stumbles forward, almost tripping over the force.

The man in front of her tentatively reaches out a hand for her to accept. She looks at it, unsure of how to react. What is she supposed to do? "It's okay." The man urges. "I won't hurt you." She shakes her head, knowing that she can't understand what he is saying. The song is getting louder, and her fingers immediately go to her head, and she begins nervously scratching, trying to push the song away.

Before she can begin, the same hand yanks her away, and she yelps in alarm. It has been a long time since another person had touched her and it burns. It burns and makes her feel alive.

She doesn't understand the meaning. She thought the song made her alive, at least that's what they told her when she was first, brought to them. Now, she needs it like the air she breathed, even now.

She feels the heat rise to her cheeks, and she averts her eyes away from him. "My name's Cole."

She cocks her head, "C-cole?" She repeated, the word slipping clumsily off her tongue. It was foreign. When was the last time she spoke? She can't remember. Everything is blurred.

The man nods his head, and she decides it will be okay. But she can still hear the lyrium singing to her, calling for her, and she watches as her knuckles turn white from clutching the man's hand.