Chapter 1

The gray weather gnawed at her. The gray sky and charcoal pavement and mud colored ground all mixing to create a melancholy she felt deep in her bones. The steering wheel felt familiar and yet foreign within her gloved hands as she drove home from a desk job that drained her.

She tried clicking on the radio. A tail end of a commercial and then Tori Amos' sultry voice swelled and filled the silence. Nope. A moment was all it took and then she was driving in silence again. Twenty minutes later she was pulling into a driveway she now shared with a neighbor. Dara grabbed her canvas messenger bag, slung it over a shoulder and slammed her car door shut. She didn't look behind her as she beeped the lock and strode across the street to unlock her apartment door.

Her bag joined the miscellaneous items that sat on the kitchen table in disarray. She palmed through some mail. Tossed it aside. Popped open the freezer door, pulled out a microwaveable meal, opened the box, pulled a butter knife from the dishwasher, gave it a rinse in the sink, and pushed a slit through the top of the plastic film before shoving it in the microwave and punching the button.

Dara wrinkled her nose. She really needed to clean the microwave.

Sighing, she pulled her phone from her bag. A text from her sister. "Dude, just checking on you today. Today of all days you need to get out of your house. Coffee? I know you miss her, but I'm worried about you. It's been two years. Time to start living life again, sis."

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she tapped the screen to pull up a little gray keyboard, a tiny cursor blinking at her. "Hey. I'm fine. Don't much feel like coffee. I'll see you later this week. Love you."

The microwave beeped and Dara tossed her phone on the couch before moving to the microwave to give the mushy vegetables and whatever else was included in the little plastic tray a stir before closing the microwave door and setting it for a few more minutes.

In the bathroom, she pulled off her wedding band, rushed through a quick shower, placed her wedding band carefully back on her hand, pulled a nearly empty sketchbook from her messenger bag and found her place on the couch with her meal and sketchbook laid out in front of her on her TV tray. Just like every evening prior to this one for the past two years, she stared at the sketchbook while she ate. When she finished, she got up, tossed her empty plastic container into the garbage, brushed her teeth, set the alarm on her phone, carefully closed her nearly empty sketchbook, picked up the PS4 controller, stretched out on the couch and lost herself in DragonAge Inquisition. It let her be someone else. Somewhere else. And, just like every other night for the past two years, she fell asleep on the couch.

However, instead of waking to a familiar alarm like she had every morning for the past two years, a strange jarring sensation jolted her awake. Her bones felt like they were vibrating inside her. Rubbing her eyes, she found herself surrounded by smoke. Pulling herself to her knees, she pushed her hands through her hair. Was her apartment on fire? A gust of cold wind bit through her clothes and gave her her answer.

With a burning throat, she stumbled forward. As she squinted and swallowed hard I an attempt to clear the dust from her throat and eyes, her trembling fingers tried to button up the blue flannel she had thrown over her Captain America t-shirt before bed. Taking a step forward, she was grateful as she realized she had fallen asleep in her moccasin slipers with the rubber sole. The ground was uneven and broken as she tried to navigate over the strange terrain.

Her ears picked up the sound of disturbing groaning. The kind of pitiful wailing you only heard in horror movies. She had heard something similar only once before and it hadn't been a movie.

"Oh God, no." She breathed. The smoke began to clear and the twisted forms of those terribly burnt began to appear around her. The smell was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her stomach lurched at the charred and bubbed skin before her. The whites of eyes still showing signs of life. Doubling over she vomited.

There was shouting from behind her. A strangely familiar voice with a Nevarran accent?

"Chain her!"

Dara barely had time to wipe her mouth with her sleeve before she was grabbed roughly by a group of soldiers in green.

"Take her in with the elf for interrogation."

When Dara saw who exactly was holding her hostage her heart stopped. The square jaw. The braid coiled tightly to her head. The jagged scar across the woman's cheek.

"Oh, now I've really lost it." She breathed.

"You will not speak." Cassandra commanded.

"This isn't real. How can this be real?"

In barely an instant, there was a blade at her throat. The Right Hand of the Divine scowled at her, "is this real enough for you? I said, you will not speak."

Dara wet her lips. "The others, you have to help them. They're not... they're.."

"They are not your concern." Cassandra pulled one of the men aside, gave a quiet order Dara couldn't quite hear and then returned to where Dara stood. "Follow me."

In a haze of disbelief, Dara followed. She had to be dreaming. Too much DragonAge. That was it. When she woke up, she was never playing again. She'd find a new job. Start really making art again. She'd go to the gym. Eat better. Maybe she'd even get a girlfriend? No. Not that. Not yet. But the other stuff? The other stuff she could definitely do.

She found herself in a cell, a nice pair of rusty shackles around her ankles to match those about her wrists. Having never actually been in a pair of shackles before, she found them heavier than she expected.