Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to BioWare.
Prompt 10: Mocking
Word Count: 447
It had been so very peaceful, sitting there, by the sea.
Merrill's armor clinked as she shifted, pulling it so that it was more comfortably settled in her lap. The wind blew through her hair, gently lifting it up off her shoulders, causing it to brush lightly against her bandaged arm.
She sighed, a forlorn sound, loosing herself in the task of re-knitting chainmail. She had cleaned the blood off earlier, fearing rust, but still had much to do in way of repair.
A loud moan pulled at her attention and she glanced at the bushes behind her, watching them for a melancholy moment before turning back to her task.
She didn't know why she felt it necessary to use that spell: the one that gripped her companions, holding them in deep slumber. Something had prompted her to do so, like she needed to, if only to have some solitude.
And she figured that they all could use some sleep, anyhow.
The Ward would keep all enemies at bay and the mage-fire would keep the comfortable and warm. At least until morning, when both spells dissipated.
That she was outside the Ward's circle of influence didn't bother her. She would have been too close to the others and she couldn't have that, especially when she needed to be alone.
Because she needed it.
A frown overtook her features: the compulsion to be by herself overwhelming. But it was good for her, she theorized. It would give her time to think.
Her thoughts drifted unerringly to her newly discovered grief, plaguing her. She swallowed thickly, blinking back moisture as she stood, planning to find something more engaging to distract herself and letting her armor fall from her limbs with a dull clank. A sob escaped despite her best attempts to hold it in, body shaking and words of regret falling uncontrollably from her lips as she pressed her trembling palms against her itchy eyelids.
'Merrill.'
The distressed elf pulled her hands away abruptly, startled. Her eyes darted to the camp anxiously, thin brows scrunching. Had Hawke woken? But that was imposs-
'Merrill.'
Something was horribly wrong.
She couldn't breathe.
The girl tried to clutch at her throat in panic, but found herself unable to move, frail hands held suspended before her face. They drifted to the sides if their own accord, swaying gently as her feet moved themselves slowly towards the edge the jagged cliff. Her fear grew with each step, blackness threatening her vision.
Then, as clear as the moon rising above her head, she heard it.
Slick and oily, like tar, the voice echoed in her mind, darkly amused.
'Meeerrriiiillll.'
And she found herself falling to the sound of mocking laughter.
AN: Yep. Tell me if there are any mistakes.
Review Please.
~Delgodess