#dancewhilethedevilsleeps

dude i didn’t even think about butt touches…..

oh man this day is gonna be good……….

(this is anti-honesty hour okay guys this is NOT REAL I ASSURE YOU)

GOD I HATE ANDERS HE IS THE FUCKING WORST. all he does is whine all the time. i hate his stupid hair. cats are fucking stupid. i hate it when he heals people for no pay or personal gain, he should be gouging people for that. i hate how he tries to win freedom for mages, they don't have it that bad and they're dangerous! think of all the people they could kill! cheer up Anders, nothing that happened to you is wrong you should just get over it 

Shit. 

There has to be an explanation for this. I still have emotions, don't I? Of course. I'm panicking. That's an emotion. Tranquil wouldn't panic. 

Just in case, I grabbed a small mirror with a shaky hand and examined my face. My fingers trailed over the spot in the middle of my forehead where that Maker-forsaken sunburst tattoo would be if I was somehow apprehended in my sleep. Aside from a couple of soft wrinkles acquired from years of fretting, my forehead was clear. I breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. 

Still in my smalls, I sat on the rickety cot I have called my bed for the last four years. I would have to shuffle out soon and light the lanterns. I couldn't work without the itch in my veins. People come to the healer, not some town alchemist. There was only so much poultices and salves could do, and while they could work wonders on things like skin rashes and alleviate the symptoms of certain illnesses, they couldn't close up wounds and knit flesh back together with finesse. Unless I wanted to open a clinic exclusively catering to sexually transmitted rashes over by the docks, I had to think fast. 

Most mages would be relieved to wake up to find their powers absent. However, it has been part of my identity for so long. This is what I am. This is what I fight for. Every morning, I heal those who haven't a silver to their name, trying however little to turn opinion around person by person. By night, I escort frightened children fresh in their abilities out of the city, letting them know they are not alone. 

I grunted and laid face-down on the cot, pulling the covers over my head. I gripped the threadbare coverlet tight in my fingers and gritted my teeth. The entirety of Darktown could probably hear the scraping sounds. I should be relieved to no longer have to worry about Templars tracking my every move, to be locked in a cold cell or face the Rite of Tranquility should I get caught, to not be looked down upon as less than human, a threat, and for my unique situation, an abomination. I couldn't even feel Justice's influence intermingling with my thoughts and emotions. That dull ache was gone, too. 

Normalcy was never my destiny.