#( I might have deleted it but I wrote somewhere that it's impossible that this shard wouldn't have been impacted by solas' mental state whe

[mercysought]

Approval + Never visiting her fragment in the Crossroads (Mythal)

approval + (prompt) // selectively accepting // @theharellan

This fate is one worse than death.

A state of undying where her hands cannot affect anything. Not her own being, not the ground beneath her, not the beautiful cliffs that had become her prison. She looks upon these same cliffs and she can hear the ocean but even that feels distant and dulled. Like being cut off from all that had made her, she was left with only the knowledge that she was broken and that all that remained was bitterness.

The bitterness in knowing that she was part of a whole that would never be. A part that could only be measured in loss for all that had been and could have ever been and knowledge of deep betrayal from both her heart and hands.

He who she had called one of her hands, had left her when she had needed him most, left to fend for herself and to hold the ire of Evanuris who grew unruly. And her heart who had always been a wild horse without a hope to be chained.

And now this, a final betrayal: To be pulled from the same weapon that she had died by and be left there; have be called a mercy.

This was not living, this was punishment for not having followed him when he had asked it. Punishment for not having understood the demand for what it was, and thought it to be a request from a friend.

This was torture of the highest cruelty. To look upon a sky that was made to mirror a life she had once known and to know each position of the stars without the possibility of ever being different, random, alive. This dead world that did not sing, did not shine made her often wonder if she had ever truly returned - but the pain was too great, the sadness too fraught, her heart too broken and yet still beating despite no strings attached to it. An anger too great for this shell to contain and a mouth too well contained and crafted to scream.

Hers and yet not quite, twisted and turned by the hands of who she had once called her most trusted friend. What a fool she had been, what a fool she was.

Why should a dead heart be cursed to continue beating only to weep for grief impossible to shake?

mythal greatly approves