A wet, weepy, wistful sound sounds. I follow, but I don't need to. Pain emanates - a familiar, forgotten pain. A second heart.

She sits still, silent, solemn. "Lavellan?" I call. I see her, but she doesn't see me. Sometimes, she doesn't want to see me. She frets at my voice, frightened, afraid to listen.

"I've never gotten into a fight with a spirit, before," Lavellan says. Legs dangling through limbs, brittle bark bleeding knees, sitting in a tree. The Fade shimmers around her, whispering, ready to be made, but she doesn't see it. She sits, wet face, swollen and scared.

She is… beautiful. Dark, tangled hair, tangled with twigs, tangled with -

"Are we fighting?" I ask. "I don't want to fight."

Lavellan looks away. She doesn't want to see me, fears what I might say. "You haven't said a word to me in days, Cole." Her words choke on her tongue.

I stop. I think, but I don't understand. She thinks I'm mad, but why? I hold out a flower. "I… brought this. For you." Lavellan looks and her tears dry. "Do you... like it?"

She stares, sun comes out, stars shine - she smiles. Then grins. Then laughs. "Cole, I... I love it, but what - what are you wearing?"

I look down and wonder. "Green?"

A hand over her mouth, skin glimmers blue, feet on grass. "Is that… Varric's shirt?" she asks. "Did you... paint it?" I nod, and Lavellan smiles. "But… why?"

The air sings, shivers. Lavellan is happy, lightning lapping fingers, glittering and light. I feel proud, happy that I make her happy. "You like the color green," I say.

"It's a bit short on you though, isn't it?" she asks. "Aren't you cold?" Fingers twist over gold loops stained green, snagging, dragging, brushing skin. Warm and bright, burning breaths, a thread stretched too tight, static in my ears. Lips on my cheek, arms winding - "Thank you, Cole." Black knots of pain shudder and stretch, ache to be undone.

But my own thoughts are too loud - the hurting, the wanting, the itching underneath. Something stolen leaking empty; water pushing through the cracks, drowning, pulling outward through the narrow. Sinking downwards, thoughts sliding through the slit.

Smelling of honey, smelling of -

But Lavellan doesn't see. She smiles and turns away, flower in her fingertips, glimmering gossamer. She is beautiful, but… more. Cinnamon and satin, shadows hiding in the spaces in her chest. She will be sad again. I didn't help. I... forgot.

"You're sweet," Lavellan says. "You remind me of Kieran. Have you met him? He's as cute as a button."

"Kieran?" I ask. Suddenly, the strings run backward. I'm shaking, I'm - "But he's… little."

Lavellan laughs, but the sound doesn't make me happy. "He is, isn't he? He's such a gentle boy, though. Just like you," she smiles, finger prodding into my side.

I remember Varric, don't think she'd be too receptive, and Dorian - a child, like a son. I wonder. I feel sick.

"Am I like your son, Lavellan?" I ask. Maybe I sound wistful, weary and she stops, stares.

"Maybe not like a son. Maker knows I'm too young for children," she laughs. "Maybe more like a little brother." Shrieking, shrill, my ears burst. Skin cold, eyes shut, somewhere, buried inside. She blinks, and I feel her worry begin to expand, to bloom into life. "Why do you ask, Cole?"

I don't understand. I tried to be a man, like Dorian said. But it was wrong. How was it wrong?

I want to hide in my hat. I want to disappear, but I can't. I'm trapped. Solas was right, Varric was wrong, and right again. I try to speak, but I can't. I'm… I…

Wracked, wrought. Wrong.

Lavellan sees me, sees into me, but I try to be happy. For her.