#amell

Last Line(s) Written

Had to wait until I had something written that wasnt for my DABB, so here's some more Anneliese!

Thanks for the tag @fiberpunk027! 💕

The only thing I am working on that I can share is the thing youre already beta-reading for me 😅 so, uh, here's something more from Something Like Home ❤️

Wip Wednesday

I am working on the third chapter for Something Like Home. Another one from Anneliese perspective. Its very very rough and hasn't even been reread yet so uh, here it is anyways!

It was hard not to feel directionless, Anneliese thought, in a place like this. In every sense one could mean it. Her days lacked the structure they had once held in the village; As they had they had the Circle; Even as they had on the run. The streets themselves seemed to mirror her disorientation - a winding labyrinth of dirt and stone and light and shadow, wholly unlike anything in her admittedly narrow experience. Kinloch had hared the hard stone, and she recalls the maze like feeling that its circular halls held when she first arrived in a distant way - she was so very young, afterall. And, by the time she had ran, she had known every dust heaped corner of that tower. Familiarity had eroded at the hard corners and edges, left it so clearly mapped in her mind that even now she could trace her footsteps through it - down the stairs and to the right to the library, up and up and up and up to the harrowing chamber. The way the thin shafts of light from the upper windows caught the gentle motes of dust as they fell. And anyways, the architecture itself shared little in common with the sharp lines and jagged edges of Kirkwall. The weeks on the run from Kinloch had seen her in cities, true, but Kirkwall made her doubt the accuracy of the term. What was Denerim, with its dirt roads and wood structures, its rambling central square with stalls selling cheese and cloth and other sundries? And her, so fresh from the Circle, her hands resting on the swollen curve of her belly, head whipping around like the nervous cats that skulked the back alleys of that city, eyes wide as saucers. Haminbryn had been little more than a Chantry, a green, a mill, and a handful of cottages scattered along a hillside - the horizon cut short by the dense Brecialian forest and laying out the boundaries of her little life there. The first week she had barely left the Estate - itself a rambling old space, far too big for the bodies that occupied it. a strange thought that in another life this might have been home. That she might have grown up under these vaulted ceiling - that she had, in fact, been born under this very roof. Perhaps the extra space was there to house the many ghosts that seemed to haunt the place.

for @unwholesomeocweek prompts: Proxy Sex/DubCon