Hawke wasn't sure how she ended up at her mother's door. This tiny, frail piece of wood was all that separated her from everything that had once been her mother's; all the toys she'd had since she was a little girl; put back lovingly in the places they'd once lived after she'd found a box of them hidden within a dusty corner of the wine cellar, all her old clothes from Fereldan; every piece of which she'd painstaking sewed herself, all the dried flowers she 'd been able to get her hands on these past few years; she claimed to never want to smell the stink that had become a part of her life in Lowtown. All Hawke had to do was open this tiny, frail thing and she have it all once more. She was alone now, Bodahn had gone out shopping and Orana had taken Barkspawn out for a walk, Sandal merrily trotting behind them. As the weeks had worn on since her mother's departure, their trips out had become longer and more frequent. She couldn't blame them for wanting to get away from her. They'd tried so hard to lift her spirits, but she was like an anchor, dragging them down to her murky depths of despair where none, not even she, could breathe. Even Fenris, who for some blighted reason insisted visiting every other day to "play wicked grace", an excuse she knew as a cover for his pity, was growing weary, his eyes pained as he stared at her through those long silences, his voice hushed as though he was addressing a child. She knew it was cruel to ignore him like this, but she didn't care, and she didn't know why he did either. It hadn't mattered when he was the reason for her pain, but now that she was…that she was…It didn't even matter anymore.
Part of her wanted to break through the mahogany infront of her, to surround herself in the things, that smelt and looked and just felt like they were apart of her. But she knew she couldn't, because as long as she didn't admit it, as long as she pretended the world hadn't changed, the longer it meant Leandra could still be sitting in her chair by the fire, the longer it meant that her mother was still here; just hidden from her, hidden behind the stupid hunk of wood.
But no matter how hard Hawke tried, she could never change the fact that her mother; the last of her family, the reason that she'd given up so much and sacrificed everything and gone on the stupid little expedition that had killed her only brother and almost seen her dead, the reason she was stuck between a bunch of horn heads and pompous, fat, old bastards who believed their god would rather watch murder than acceptance, the reason she was empty inside; was gone. Her mother had disappeared, she'd left Hawke with nothing but an empty room full of memories she would never see and an ache in her soul that she couldn't shake. She wasn't sure when she began screaming at the door or screaming at the woman part of her wished was sitting behind it. She wasn't sure when she began crying and gasping for air between choked sobs. She wasn't sure when it was, that she'd slid down onto her knees and clutched her warm, wet, puffy face. All she knew was that all she could do was cry.
Because Hawke was pathetic.
Hawke was broken.
Hawke was alone.