The Graveyard of their Fears
They stopped in a relatively quiet corner of the Fade to catch their breath a little. There was a fence, rickety, run down, and behind it...
"Oh no. No, no, no."
They didn't see it. Couldn't. She didn't know what they saw. Cassandra said she'd seen maggots, before, when she had seen spiders herself. Who knew what exotic things Solas saw, Fadewalker, hedge mage, abyss gazer. And the Creators themselves could only guess at what more-than-a-spirit Cole saw...
But she... she saw a graveyard. Skulls and bones and stench of death, hued in sickly green and yellow. Stark, slick gravestones, each precisely carved with a name. Each name neatly paired to a fear. Eyes round with horror, she saw them all, saw what they tried to hide from her. Saw them, and despaired.
For if they feared, they who were her foundation, her strength, her guides... what hope had she?
Nightmare chuckled, darkly, sensuously, sending shivers through her and into the ground below her, ripples spreading. It whispered obscenely into her ear:
"You fear, then, little Inquisitor? You fear them?"
That chuckle again, dark and ripe with awful promise, all the good things gone forever. "Good."
Its breath ghosted against her, chill and dank; and it whispered a painful caress into her ear, a vile, carnal, abhorrent lover's voice.
"Now, little Inquisitor, now you belong to me."
