I lay in my bed that night pondering on my life. Greagoir said that all creatures were created in the Maker's image, and that amongst those he blessed few with the love and light of his bride, Andraste. He told me I was one of those precious few. Shy, I had brushed off the compliment with a smile and wave of my hand, though it had stuck with me long through the night.

Did I really deserve such a title?

Though a year had passed since my final night with my master, the scars he left still cut fresh into my body as if they had been inflicted days before. No healer nor enchanter could cure the terrible scars, so I was left - a disfigured reminder of the horror of blood magic. I couldn't stand to look at myself in the mirror anymore. Every time I did, his voice hissed in my ear.

Why so sad, child?

Startled, I swept the covers to my chest and sat up. It had been many moons since his viperous voice poisoned my subconscious, but never before had I heard him so clearly. My hands began to tremble as I gripped the sheets and tried to calm my pounding heart.

His laughter rung clear and true in my ears, and suddenly I was the same frightened mageling I'd been the first night he found me. His special one, he'd called me. His most favored and precious Antivan jewel.

My Kaidasa…

Like silk his voice whispered against my ear, and for a moment I was tempted to melt right back into his arms. It would feel wonderful to belong to him again, to know I was his special one. A second's breath caught me back. His greedy fingers pried inside of my mind.

I fought against the sensations I knew he controlled. Though I'd never been conscious of it at the time, my teacher Irving had taught my of a very particular, rare magic of the mind that magi used. Like himself, I possessed these abilities with practiced ease, though I'd never sought to use them. When I told him of my master's skills, he had suspected the man of a much more refined, sharpened version of these same practices. He was a danger to any mortal man with a weary mind.

In the present, I found it impossible to fight against the current of his beckoning. His calls echoed to me like the sweetest honey, and like a lost child seeking out its parent I returned to the voice. A great, blanketing shadow descended upon my chambers then, and before I could call out for help - or even scream - it lifted my body and carried me away.

I could not fathom in those next moments why no one could see me. I could not speak nor move, yet we soared just above the heads of late-night sleepers. Down the hall he passed a tired guard leaning on his sword. My stomach sickened. Even now, he could control them with a whisper.

I was dropped unceremoniously onto the cold stone of an abandoned chamber. By the looks of the worn pillars, it had once served as a small library and altar for prayer. A broken podium sat in ruin by an up-heaved section of shelves. As the strange, moving shadow shifted away I felt that same cold-sick fear return to my body. I was too frightened to move, and instead sat half-hunched and shaking in the middle of the room. Moonlight broke in through the crumbling rafters, basking me in an unsettling and naked glow. I felt entirely exposed under the light, and crumpled more into my body in hopes to become invisible.

No need to fear me, girl.

Again his voice breathed as crisp as winter air. I could scarcely feel it whisper on the back of my neck. Chilled, I jumped and pressed fingertips to my skin. Nothing there. Fearful, I scanned the room for his body. Dust and ruined books were the only inhabitants of this dismal and lifeless crypt. A perfect tomb for my final hours.

"Please," I pleaded with him. I tried to conjure more, but my lips fell into a uneven whisper. Tears slipped down my face, and my hands shook against the stone floor. In the year I'd been in the tower, I had conjured myself a fallacy of protection and indestructibility. At times, I even pondered the idea that it had all been a horrible nightmare as Greagoir described. I had only recently come to the concept that my master was but a figment, a shadow - he could never harm me again. In that moment however, I was entirely immobilized by the magnitude of my terror.

He laughed at my notions, then I felt a wisp of air catch my cheek. Gasping, I clutched my face and witnessed a bird fly past my head and up into the chamber's canopy of broken beams and crumbling stone. The creature settled on a statue and regarded me with black, beady eyes. By the sleek, blue design of its feathers, I realized that the bird was a raven. It screeched and spread its claws again before descending down upon me. My scream was drowned out by the vast expanse of its wings, which grew to the near size of a fabled griffon's. He cloaked me in his arms, and I saw only darkness.

When I dared open my eyes, the shadows had receded. Around me lay remnants of feathers and blood. I looked up, trembling and teary-eyed, to find him towering over me. He stood hard and unmoving with his fire-eyes set upon me - angry, loathing, and loving. And like always, I felt again as a child in his presence. I could not contain myself - I fell at his feet and wept. And like always, he reached down and placed a cold and forgiving hand on my silken head.

"My Kaidasa," he murmured. "Do not cry, I am here…" he hushed me. His thumb rested under the hollow of my throat and drew my eyes heavenward. Around him the sky's light drew a glowing halo, though he stood against it like a burning fire. "Do not cry," he repeated, sounder. I obeyed.

Drawn to my feet, I felt his hands upon me and fell still. A part of me knew I should run, and an even smaller part wanted to. Though he could harm he as easily as the last time, my feet would not move. I stood motionless in his presence, inviting him to my body and very soul. He looked upon my face with consideration, then frowned as he regarded my scars. A rough fingertip traced each, individual scar until he'd touched every marking on my face. His hands began to trail to my throat, then to the ritual designs cruelly embedded into the flesh of my arms.

As he explored my scarred flesh with invasive fingertips, I felt my body begin to tremble in familiar, deep fear that rooted itself in my pounding chest. No longer was I possessed by the haze of false comfort, but rather controlled by the calculating power of his magic. He would no longer allow me to move. My terror began to build as his hand reached under the fabric of my neckline then paused.

"You left me that day, in winter," he murmured. Though I could not move, it did not stop the tears from falling or my hands from shaking. My heart thundered against my rapidly expanding ribs. "I trusted you, dear Kaidasa," he whispered into my ear, lifting my hair as he did so. His voice was venomous and breath hot. I shuddered.

"My precious jewel," he continued while letting his fingers slip further under my blouse. "My Kaidasa, we must finish what we started…"

"Sweet, vile betrayer!" he shouted, ripping the gown from my chest. It tore in half and fell around my ankles. Gasping, I felt the cold air claw around my naked body. He released me then, and I fell to the floor in a wretched pile of sobs. His voice screamed in my head, hurting me with wounds deeper than those on my skin.

You betrayed me.

You killed me.

How could you leave me, Kaidasa?

How could you turn to them for comfort?

I am your only Master, your only lover. Your only, Kaidasa.

I am your Master. Your Keeper.

Your Savior, dear girl. My Kaidasa.

I screamed for forgiveness, and only by his hand did I finally stop crying. He fell to one knee and opened his arms for me. I fell into them with the wounds of a frightened animal, my heart still screaming. I clung to him, pressing needy hands into his flesh and finding long-forgotten comfort in his shadow. "Forgive me," I whispered, tear-stained cheek pressed against his neck. His hand wrapped around my head.

"You are forgiven, Kaidasa," he answered.

Though he was known for his cruelty, the mage - the man I knew - was not always so full of anger and guilt. There were happier times - times when he would look at me as I was, and not as he saw the others. He would smile at me from the riverbank, threading out the water from his hair. At night, I would sit by the fire and carefully brush his dark hair until it shined. He would press a hand to my head and call me his jewel. I knew he wanted happiness - I could see such desires in the tiredness of his eyes. He desired to grasp that happiness again of which had been robbed from him.

The only mistake he had done was that he was remembered for his cruelty, and not his love. He was not the man of treacherous nightmares, but the master who taught me how to read, and guided my hands quietly over each page to give me the language of his people - of my people - and to feel like I had a place amongst the world. He gave me a purpose.

There was a different man trapped within his skin; the monster the world saw, and the master I knew. I loved him.

He was burdened by a hate they could not begin to comprehend, and should never try. It ate away his soul, piece by piece, and I was left watching it break each and every day he woke to another heavy heart, deep down until the madness finally consumed his broken, dry love and thus remained - only hatred. And I had left him, alone.

The man that touched my skin and held me in his arms was my master and my savior. He protected me from the world, and so on the night before my Harrowing I gave my body once more to his cause. Whether by my own will or his, I allowed him into the sanctity of body and soul that I swore he would never take again. I fell into love and sin, and in the shadow of the fallen Maker's temple my flesh was tainted once more by the Devourer's grasp.

I love you, Mahiel.

I will always love you.