Sweet, gentle Kaidasa. My mage. My love.

How could they do this to you?

A year had passed in my charge, and she had shone more brightly than any flicker of the sun's flame. My brilliant and beautiful Kaidasa, a woman born by the pure love and flames of Andraste herself. Every day I stood and basked in her overwhelming beauty and praised her will and strength of the Maker, and each night I wept under the quiet altar for my unforgiving love of this woman. I prayed that my affections would be taken from me, for it is unclean and forbidden for two such as ourselves to be together. I prayed for mercy on her gentle soul, and that under the watchful eyes of both Irving and the First Enchanter she would be kept safe. Maker watch over me. Andraste give me strength.

I am to sin on this night.

Kaidasa told me of her history, one of which echoed wretched nightmares not meant for the memory of one so kind. She had been tortured and bled by her former masters - that of a rogue blood magic cult that sent a sick feeling to the root of my stomach. To myself alone she confided (after no less than a year in my confidence) the full identity of her master. I had read of his name vaguely in old texts of folklore and horror, though never once believed them to be true.

By my memory, her supposed master was painted textually as a walking creature of death. His path was stroked by the flames of hate, and behind him he left only ash and barrens. By the will of his hate and limitless control over his powers, he helped bring about the age of dark arts - more importantly the practice of blood magic. He was known to the kinsmen of this folklore as Mahiel the Devourer, for everything within his path was taken and destroyed. Everything he touched turned to darkness. By my memory, this man - this horrible, vile creature of the Black City - was over five hundred years old.

Kaidasa never once faltered on her belief that her master was this same man of legend, and though I doubted her - I never interjected. I merely assumed he was some elaborate mage-man with delusions of historical power. If this demon truly walked the earth, we would be turned to dust by the present.

The man she called Master abused and persuaded dear Kaidasa into his own fantasy, even at times drawing her sympathy despite the horrible stories she told me of mutilation and death from the other slaves. I would wince and swallow the lump in my throat whenever her fearful memories turned to fond ones, and she would recall her cruel keeper as a man of logic and calm nature. If he was anything like Devourer, he was not a man of reason. He had only one purpose, should he ever have the misfortune of meeting me, and that was to fall upon the edge of my blade.

I was terribly fond and protective of my sweet mageling, and only when the sobering reality of her mortality crept up on me did I feel that old fear come swooping back. Kaidasa was in danger once again, but not from the shadow of her keeper - this time I had reason to fear my own masters. The line between duty and reason is a glass-thin surface I have rarely set foot upon, but for her sake I would tread across the oceans if it meant keeping her safe. This was my reasoning in my betrayal.

I was leaving with Kaidasa.

Away from the tower and away from the harmful weapons of the other men, I could keep her safe. Tomorrow morning her Harrowing would take place, and tomorrow morning my commander would find reason to put her down before she had a chance. From the moment he laid eyes on her he had hated her kind. For six months after her arrival I was on nerve's edge day-in and day-out, fearful he would take matters into his own hands and slay her while she slept. Only by the protection of First Enchanter Leona and my own vigil did she stay safe, and after the first six months the Commander finally ignored her. So I hoped.

In the back of my mind a voice screamed to walk away from it - my logic and loyalty to the Maker demanded that I seek penance and turn away from this unjust betrayal. I could not will myself to turn from the door, not with her weak smile and memories shouting in the bigger part of my heart. My soul felt torn in two, and ashamed - I found myself turning the iron key and stepping into the phylactery storage chamber.

"Forgive me, Andraste," I bowed my head shut the door behind me.

Though I found her phylactery with disturbing ease, I felt a hand at my back before I could will myself to drop the vial and allow the hateful liquid to shatter on the frozen stone floor. Unthinking, I slipped the glass bottle into my robes before the intruder could see.

"Rembrandt Greagoir," a deep, husky voice growled behind me. I could feel the cold steel of metal armor on my shoulder. My heart thundered against my ribs as I turned to face the Commander. He had a wicked smile written on his face as he regarded me.

"Somehow I knew I would find you here," he said.

My head slammed against the stone as I was thrust into the prison. They didn't bother searching me. There was no need. Though they had no idea of my crimes, my former knights and fellow soldiers wasted no time in spitting on my corpse. One of them slurred an ugly insult in my direction, then shut the old wooden door to the jail hall. I was in the tower dungeon.

There was no way to save her now.

Frustrated, I kicked at the bars until my foot slipped and crunched against the iron. Instinctively I shouted and threw my body up against the cage in my anger. After a few more shoves, I fell against the prison in dismay and wept.

Kaidasa I have failed you.

Forgive me.