That night Evelyn didn't sleep. It had been easy to tell herself to adjust but now, surrounded by a sleeping group and Cassandra on guard, she was having doubts. She sat up and looked at her glowing hand with a frown. Even when she clenched her hand the light shone through her fingers, an eerie green glow. She wriggled her fingers, making an effect where the light rippled and sighed.
Now she'd accepted the fact she would never see her home again, she missed it. It had been a cold home and odds were no one would understand why but she missed the familier halls. She missed her mothers singing in the morning when her music tutor was over or the moments at the family dinner when her brothers would share a look over the daily gossip.
The moments when Maxwell would sing the chantry psalms after an evening meal or Vincent would practice Court with her, making sure that his skills were always sharp. She even missed the days her father would arrange a potential suitor to come over to dinner and that had been before her being taken away to the Circle.
She still remembered when Maxwell had discovered she was being taken away and had offered her his copy of the chant, a worn leather bound book full of the teachings of Andraste. He had been a true believer, attempting to stop her magic from corrupting herself as her father had arranged secret transport to a far way Circle. The book had burned in the tower with everything else she'd left behind. The teachings corrupted by the Templars, soldiers of the Chantry.
By rights she should have attended the White Spire. It had been the closest circle but in the Courts it was a common occurrence for families to send mages to a faraway circle where they wouldn't be seen with an excuse. A marriage. A sick relative. Her family had followed that trend leading to her in a Circle near Salle in Antiva.
The mark flashed at the mere thought of Antiva.
She was home now. She didn't need to consider the cold that gripped her heart at the memory of the Circle. The tower was destroyed and the Circle had separated, vowing never to contact each other again. The Templars had ruled the Circle, stopping all contact with the outside world. The teachers had grown up in the Circle themselves, and had passed on traditions to their students. The main one had been a twisted version of The Game to weed out the weak but there had been others.
The secrets of how to carry out a secret romance and prevent conception had been the oddest one. A special tea made of herbs brewed in a blood circle, the mere sight of it enough for the Templars to use Tranquillity. A form of meditation was another, which helped you purge negative emotions into the Fade. She hadn't used it since her Harrowing like most of her spells. The apprenticeship of new students to high level mages. The tea given to mages to avoid the effects of the lack of sun. It had tasted like warm mint, tingling the tongue as it was drunk.
In a way, she missed the prison of the Circle. After her harrowing it had been almost pleasant when the Templars stopped considering her. She'd been an official adult in the circle at seventeen, carrying a proper staff in proper mage robes. They'd been burned with her book.
She leant over and pulled Dorian's staff towards herself quietly. She still saw it as the symbol of when everything had gone wrong. She hated it. But it had been over nine years of her life, the weight of metal in her hands still familiar. She bounced it on her palms and smiled. The burn of her mana finally ebbed away, exiting into the gently glowing staff. When she'd left the tower, she'd ignored the gentle burn until it went away but in Emprise Du Lion it had returned. It itched under her skin, demanding to be used.
Cassandra was probably watching her, but that was ok. Evelyn had no intention of running. (If just because they'd put her on an actual leash if she tried to run.) Instead she powered the staffs glow, letting herself enjoy the simple pleasure of her skin no longer itching. It made her miss the moments when magic hadn't been a curse. Her first few days in the circle had almost been enjoyable until the walls had started to close in and she'd began to miss the sun. The tea hadn't been enough as she began to claw the walls to escape, nails digging into brink as she'd screamed. The Templars had locked her in a closet with a bucket until she'd become quiet and stopped begging for light. Until she'd ran out of mana summoning a small flame to remove the darkness and the cold.
But that was over. She was no longer in the dark. She was outside the walls. Quietly she ran fingers through the dirt, reaffirming it wasn't a fade hallucination. Desire Demons loved that one but they never made the dirt feel right. The soft gravely texture as it clung under your fingernails. The staff continued to glow as she hugged it like she had with her first staff. The first one had been made of common metal and it had been used for practice. She'd snuck it to bed and summoned a small light for the entire night.
It was the one thing the other girls had never mocked or reported. They all did it at one point or another. After the days when a mage gave in to despair or was dragged away screaming. The nights were cries were heard from the upper levels from the younger ones who hadn't learned to be quiet and not disturb the others. The days the teachers had to repeatedly explain why they couldn't just give in to Rage or Despair or Desire or Vengeance. When the teenagers each gave in to the nightmare that they were never leaving. They'd never see their families again. Never have children. Never see the sun.
Those days were the worst. The helplessness as their dreams died in the darkness. The months when rope and knives were removed. When food intake was monitored. The Templars had been horrible but they'd kept the mages alive. When they hadn't taken advantage of the isolation they'd given their favourite mages gifts from the outside. Mirrors and flowers and chocolates and wine and books. She'd avoided the gifts, knowing the price but the others had looked on in envy when one was given. It might as well have been a gift from the Maker. It was the outside. It was their only link to their childhood memories which had dulled until they told stories of families and had wondered aloud 'what colour was my mother's hair?' or 'what was my brother's name?'.
With half a mind, she wished for her mask. She'd brought her childhood mask to the tower despite her families wishes. Stared at the family marks as she hid. Used the mask as a focus point in her meditation, mask streaked with blood. And it was the one thing she'd mourned when she'd left. And that was why she twirled the comforting light in her hands as she remembered the cruel years, silent tears falling down her face.
(That was probably why no one told her to return the staff or stop the light as the glow woke them.)