You were born amidst the Dalish elves: noble wanderers who refuse to join the society of humans that subjugated their homeland so long ago. The Dalish travel the land in tightly knit clans, struggling to maintain their half-forgotten lore in a human world that fears and despises them. You spend your time hunting with your clan-mate Tamlen in the forests, and as is sometimes the case, your quarry is not always the local wildlife…
there is something so terrifying about wanting to be held,
a years deep ache in my bones,
like a child
sobbing
pleading for someone to notice, to care.
come here darling,
I swear I will not bite,
come here please,
smooth away the cracks in my skin,
piece me back together with the gold of your love,
like the japanese would repair their pottery.
there is something so vulnerable about wanting to be touched,
undoing me with a mere brush of the fingers,
peeling back my layers like the skin of an orange,
and each golden segment of my soul,
is an offering (i love you).
oh, do you think you could hold me?
just this once?
kiss the backs of my knees when they ache?
trace the divots of my spine like exploring a foreign land?
memorize the shape of my nose, my jaw, my eyes,
turning the terrain of my body into something familiar.
Perhaps it is selfish of me to ask for such a thing,
I have always been a rather demanding creature,
a dog,
scratching at the door,
begging to be let in.
I will be gentle I swear,
curl up in your chest,
your ribcage can be a temple,
your heart the god I bow before,
praying you might hold me,
if only for a little while.