Don't own Dragon Age.
I do not own Dragon Age.
This was a prompt from tumblr in which I asked for songs and ships. The song (therefore the line mentioned at the top of the story) offered to me was "Moments" by One Direction. I don't own that either.
Hands are silent
Voice is numb
Try to scream out my lungs
It makes this harder
And the tears stream down my face
Everything is dim. You can't quite remember what color looks like anymore, but it certainly has nothing to do with this faded, stone-and-ink world that you suddenly find yourself inhabiting. You can't recall the feeling of a summer breeze lazily rolling over your skin, nor can you conjure in your memory the sounds of music that you could coerce from strings with your hands.
It wasn't like this when Marjolaine betrayed you.
When you found yourself sprawled on your knees in one of the homely little homes of the Maker, you felt. You felt vividly. Your lips always stretched taut against your teeth in a bared pink farce of a white smile, your blood crackled with lightning hot anger, your hands twitched with fury as you imagined clutching a silver dagger until your fingertips turned white and your knuckles strained to escape your skin, clutching that blade and plunging it into your mentor's skin until she could spew no more lies. Your chest was always tight and hollow, each breath tearing through your lungs with a bitter yellow aftertaste, your eyes always ached with the crimson anger hidden behind the baby blue eyes that had enraptured prey countless times before.
You were full of feeling, brimming with color and fire and hate and passion. Now you couldn't cough up one drop of the emotion, the feeling, that had once sloshed over the edges of your person shaped cup and spilled out in blood and steel and sour words on your gilded tongue.
Everything is gone. It's as if she reached into your chest, grabbed your still beating heart and your heaving lungs, and took them with her, leaving you with an emptiness, a closed throat that cannot simply get enough air and cannot scream loud enough to express your emptiness, and a cold, stiff corpse of a girl you once knew, a corpse in your arms.
A girl, a girl you loved, who had ice water eyes and a quick mind and a resilient heart. A heart that is now still and limp and impaled by a barbed arrow with its tail end still wedged into her chest.
There are tears on your face, you can feel them only just. They fall down your cheeks and leave dried tracks and taste like salt on your tongue. You aren't sure when they began but you can't see an end to them because to you it feels like everything has already ended.
She's gone.
You can hear people vaguely, saying your name and whispering comfort. You can feel them, hands on your back and arms wrapped around your shoulders. But then again, you can't feel it at all. They touch you with monotone, each fingerprint another splotch of grey to add to the binary of your absent world.
She used to touch you with color.