Always long fingered she mused. Mages always seem to have long fingers. With a touch of magic. Did magic know that it's wielder would need to carry a staff to guide its force? Maybe, she was overthinking this. Through one hand, she watched the lights shift in time with a widening enclosing of her fingers. There was no sun, no moon but there had been a consistent light. In the space between Eluvihan, she guesses anything was possible. A subtle warmth, not overbearing. The waste of plants and buds went to bloom. Turning cheek she was met with the given stroke of a fur pelt.
And from here she could see it. The doorway that she had entered through into this little off set realm. The looking glass she had stumbled through, chasing battle and crowing for victory. Finding something much more emotionally scarring yet oddly satisfactory. Personal discord in its finest.
Familiarity. Realization. Acceptance.
The point of her toes, shivers of quivering muscles stretches alongside the languid satisfaction saturating her limbs.
Pleasure. Content. Happy.
She lowered her hand from the air, leaving it to settle on the cell curve of her belly, pale, that spoke to the lack of sun this specific section of her skin saw. A larger hand slid along her own signifying her partner had finally awoken. Pale fingers. Pale for a man, and an elf. Long, pale fingers for an apostate. Such a stereotype, what it seem as if all mages were bored with long fingers. Moving her head in a slow shake she stored the pondering for a later date. To her right, her gaze became locked with another. Eyes, another type of looking glass.
"Ma Vehnan".
"You're leaving." It wasn't a question, but statement born of past experiences, especially with this being.
"As we discussed."
"It is not a discussion if one does all the talking and the other can do nothing else but listen." She shrugged rolling onto her side, one leg looking over his hip. She kept the bitterness and anger from her tone, but both knew it was kept beneath walk and Shane. Scratching at the back of her throat, but now is not the time. Now was not the time for accusations and arguments going nowhere. Here, beneath the fabricated spring, coupled with touches and kisses of lovers, no time for arguments and raised voices. They both were aware of the illusion and in an unspoken agreement they agreed to fall prey to falsehood.
"True." Solas pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. Warm chapped and worried with teeth marks. It seemed as if he had picked up some of her habits at Skyhold. She returned his kisses, opened mouth and the following size. Another argument, verbalize just yesterday settling over them, marking iron shackles. He was going to try and in the world as she knew it and she was going to try and stop him.
It seemed as if fate had granted them a love of discord. Both souls patched together were shaky spells and stitches. Mark citizen, battles public like the lame lived in. Thedas with a land steeped in strife. More thoughts to ponder on later. Her time here was quickly drawing to an end. The mouth, the soul of her breast, lean body near seconds before beside her, no above. She was in her own level of chaos, her own level of discord. And if this here, swollen mouth kisses, shakily mended hearts and souls. If this is a piece of her own discord, she gladly would stay behind the looking glass.
