❝ Are you a miracle? ❞ — @ever4sking for émilie (,,♡ᵕ♡,,)
DISCO ELYSIUM // not accepting . @st4ysoft @ever4sking
"A miracle?..."
Émilie's head nearly snaps when turning towards Tamara, a beginning of a snort forming in the back of her throat; she had expected to hear a joking tone, maybe a glint of mischief in her voice but when light eyes fall on Tamara she sees nothing but genuine warmth. It is disarming in a way that Émilie doesn't expect, it makes all words die in her mouth and her eyes.
The laughter just at the beginning of her throat and the mean edge on her lips feels awfully inadequate. Out of place. Of course. Tamara likely doesn't understand the intricacies of the Southern Circles, and truthfully, Émilie wished that she didn't have to learn them. Émilie wished to have that sort of ignorance also bless her "I don't think any mage would ever be called that in the south, Mara."
A curse, yes. Being a miracle of any kind was only for the fact that she was still alive.
Out of the thirteen that had planned to overthrow the White Spire she was the only one that managed to survive, by sheer luck. Perhaps the Maker had smiled upon her too on that day. From that standpoint perhaps Tamara was correct. In some ways, she was.
"Maybe Andraste, if you believe the rumours." she picks back up, not noticing how long the silence had truly spread. Her right hand comes to rest on the pommel of the blade to the side of her body. Light eyes move to Tamara to give her a significant look: the rumours that Andraste had been a mage, that had been the reason why she was ultimately betrayed. The reason why she had eventually died - a sacrifice for them all "But I don't think they are real."
Émilie had never cared much to find out. Andraste and the Maker and the Chantry within the Circle were only places that she might slip by and gain a few moments to be alone with her thoughts despite knowing that she would always have eyes on her. She was never able to remain in that room for too long. The floors were scrubbed. The walls were reinforced. The seats replaced as they were needed.
But there was not a single soul that didn't know where the templars felt most at home in the Spire. The most comfortable to show the maker how they made their charges pay.
"Not to mention, of course, that it is heresy." and with that, Émilie shrugged.
Whatever that meant to a centuries dead woman and all the names etched into books. It didn't mean anything to her, not more than the fact that once she had been able to walk free... Free to walk free since she had been such a young child that she had hardly remembered her life before? That the discussions she overhead and participated in when it came to religion, away from the templars ears, done in small notes and hand signals, made her feel terribly despondent.
As well as stoke an anger she had thought long dead.
"I think we just needed something to hold onto." she pauses, lowing her voice as her eyes move to the Inquisitor as she spoke to the Ferelden Monarch a distance away "To believe that the first Herald could find it within Herself to love us too, despite our burden."
















