A/N: Please Read

So, let me preface this by saying that I suffer depression and anxiety. I know firsthand how terrible it is for everyone when one attempts suicide. A lot of this, the feelings that come from both sides come from my personal experience. This story is, in a way, a way for me to reflect on the ordeal of such an attempt.

Dragon Age II is very important for me. I've never connected with a character like Hawke, who despite possessing a cheerful front, has so much happen to them. I really got the sense that my Hawke would not be stable after all that, and kind of explored that through writing.

This story gets dark at times and the tone from Hawke's point of view is disorienting, but I promise it will end somewhere positive, if not in the middle.

Please take care of yourselves if you're reading this. While it is therapeutic for me to write, it can also be triggering. If you are in a bad state, please take a break and know that it gets better. I mean, I survived, so you can too if you've the same stupid illness.

I've added some suicide hotlines here too, if you need:

USA: 18002738255

United Kingdom: 08457909090

Canada: 18334564566

...

'Twas Marian's third attempt to kill herself.

The first two clearly didn't work. She had cheerfully inquired on what rat poison Anders used for his clinic pests, to be given a small sample that the stressed healer promised would get rid of her problem. Later that night, she had leaned over her balcony, shed a few dramatic tears, and downed the bottle.

It was not as sweet as Orlesian tragedies made it out to be. There was no poetic speech, no gently falling asleep. Marian instead was violently sick minutes after, emptying the contents of her stomach all over her balcony. The poison, it seemed, was meant for rats, not just any old vermin. She was sick and suffering, but very much alive. Food poisoning, she explained to a confused Aveline, who dropped in the next morning with updates of the latest jobs in town.

The next time she tried was a few weeks later, this time with a homemade concoction. Marian was too well known across town to purchase poison, and the beggar she'd bribed had just taken her money and run. So, it was time for her to dabble in potion making. She was immensely proud of herself for the steaming white potion. Unfortunately, she wasn't a very good alchemist and threw that up as well, leaving her bedridden and delirious the next day, but annoyingly alive. She feared Anders was getting suspicious when she refused to let him near her when she was sick the second time.

It seemed like the Maker didn't intend for her to go by poisoning. That was fine. It only meant she would have to use a more old fashioned method.

The day she decided to act was an ordinary one. She got lunch with Isabella, and settled some petty political squabble between the Arishok and the Viscount. She retired to her house and worked to get rid of Orana during their early supper. "Take the rest of the day off!" she said to her elven maid at the dinner table.

Orana jumped at the sound of her voice. It hurt that she was still so anxious, but it couldn't be helped for someone who'd gone through such horrors. Marian had hoped that having her join her dining table with her, Bodhan, and Sandal during the occasional meal would help her gain some confidence, but she was still as meek as a mouse. "B- but- my lady…" she said at last.

"Hmm?" Marian asked easily, pretending to be invested in her steak.

"You'd be home all alone…"

That was the plan. She'd masterfully encouraged Bodahn and Sandal to go on vacation for a week and gave them an advance to do so, citing a need for some special runes. They had happily taken her up on it. Now it was just a matter of distracting her shy little shadow whom she suspected was put up to keeping Marian in sight at all times by some of her meddling friends.

"Oh no!" Marian sighed dramatically, placing a hand to her chest. "You're right! If you're gone, how shall I protect myself from any dastardly foes?! Never leave me, my sweet Orana, or I shall never sleep peacefully at night!."

Orana covered her mouth to hide her smile. She couldn't hide the soft giggle, however. She looked at a grinning Marian. "Forgive me, my lady. I know you don't need me, but I would much rather stay in tonight."

"You're not forgiven." Marian said seriously, causing a flicker of fear to cross Orana's face that vanished when Marian smiled. "I insist you go have some fun. Didn't you want to check in with some of those friends you made in the Alienage?" When Orana still looked hesitant, Marian rolled her eyes. "You could also pick me up a bottle of vintage red on the way, if you want it to be official business." She reached for her coin purse and handed her the amount required for a good bottle.

Orana looked down with a tiny smile, and pushed back the coin. "I think they have a tab for you, my lady. I shouldn't need to carry coin with me."

Marian laughed heartily. "That settles it, then. Go on, you."

Her maid got up and instead moved to the stairs. "Let me just draw a bath for you, my lady."

She resisted the urge to groan. "It's alright, really."

"It won't take long." With that, she was off. Marian pushed aside her plate, with the little meat remaining and got up to go to her rooms. Orana was pulling out the tub and running about to fetch water. She waited for the maid to pull out scented oils and soaps, with soft washcloths meticulously draped over the side of the tub. Orana, Maker bless her, even got out a platter of fine cheeses and olives and put it on the table on the side of the tub. "Do you need anything else, my lady?" she asked, adjusting everything.

"This is perfect." Marian reassured. "Thank you. Now go enjoy yourself."

Orana blushed and nodded, running down the stairs to get her cloak. Marian leaned out the door of her bedroom and waited for the grand doors of her house to shut before she retreated into her room and closed her own doors. She grabbed the key and locked the door, tossing it aside carelessly.

Marian looked to the mess of letters on her desk with a frown. She had tried very hard to write compelling notes filled with good, logical reasons as to her choice before her first attempt, but couldn't come up with anything worthy. 'I'm tired' sounded lazy. 'I have no one left' sounded whiny. In the end, all she had was a pile of crumpled papers. She considered trying again, but didn't want the bath water to go cold.

The bath water. There was really no point to it, but she figured it would be a waste to let a perfectly good bath go unused. It would also make it easier to clean up. She'd hate to be an inconvenience, after all. The gentle steam rising from the surface of the water was certainly calling to her too. She dipped a hand in and channeled some fire magic so the water was as hot as she liked it, near scalding, which always left her pink and steamed.

Marian shrugged out of her tunic and stepped into the hot bath, wincing as she always did initially. Her brown waves fell around her shoulders. What was the point in tying them up? She let out a bark of a laugh at the thought that she'd be found naked and considered putting on a robe. She opted out, deciding to let whoever found her have that show. It wasn't like she'd be around to face the consequences.

For all her bravado, it took Marian time to summon the courage to move. Downing poisons was one thing, a simple action that she could almost pretend was like inhaling some potent Qunari spirits. This was another matter entirely, something that she was almost too cowardly to do.

Almost being the key word.

Marian uncovered the blade she'd hidden underneath of a rag beside the cheeses. She attempted to twirl the dagger in her hand, but dropped it. "Ah fuck." she mumbled, pulling it from the water and holding it straight in front of her critically. There was no point in stalling now.

First, to test the sharpness, she pricked the tip of her index finger, wincing at the prick of pain, but watching, hypnotised as the drop of blood fell into the water and stained it pink. Just like me, ruining everything I touch.

After steeling herself for a few minutes, Marian picked her left wrist. The fair skin was already marred with scratches and shallow cuts from the past few months, yet she was still shocked by the pain that came with cutting into her skin vertically. Tears blurred her vision and she cursed loudly. Coward.

She clumsily did the other wrist with a shaking, blood-soaked hand and cried equally at that pain. She had done all that she could and threw the blade. It skidded across the wood of her floor with a loud sound, then stilled.

Marian stared at her shaking, bleeding wrists as they dripped blood into the once clear water of her bath. She laughed hysterically at a thought. The Chantry had been wrong. Mage blood didn't look any different than that of a non-mage. There was no black bile, but crimson rivers. The laugh devolved into weak sobs. All she could do was lean her head back and try to sleep.

She looked to the ceiling as she slowly bled. The sight in front of her eyes was getting blurrier and blurrier. In a few minutes, the pain wasn't even bothering her anymore, but everything was starting to feel so cold. It was after she'd fallen into a restless state of unconsciousness, that she began to hear voices. The Maker sounded awfully familiar. And angry. Well, that wasn't too much of a surprise. What she was doing was one of the greatest sins a mortal could do, according to the Chantry.

It didn't matter. Wherever she was destined to go after death, she was on the way. Soon. She promised herself. It'll all be over soon.