โโฟ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ @herofabled
สแดแด สแด๊ฐแด แดสแด สแดแดแด สแดแด แดกแดสแด สแดแดแด ษชษดษข ษชษด แดสแด แดษชแดแดสแดษด. ษช ๊ฐแดแดษดแด ษชแด ษชษด แด สแด๊ฑแดแดแด แด๊ฐ แดษดษชแดษด๊ฑ. โ แด แดสสษชแด
๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐, her hand halfway to the cup of tea she just poured. She blinks, once, twice, then turns her head slowly toward Varric. A basket of onions ? Of all the placesโฌโฌHeat creeps up her neck, embarrassment settling like a stone in her chest. How in the world did it even end up there ? She swears she only set it on the counter while fetching something. But now, her book, Emmrichโs book, has been marinating in onion scent like some absurd culinary experiment.
Her lips press together, twitching at the corners before she exhales, shaking her head. โ Well, โ she muses, forcing lightness into her tone, โ at least you found eet. Imagine if Lucian had stumbled upon it insteadโฌโฌ โ A laugh bubbles up at the thought. The look he would give her. That unamused, heavy-lidded stare, the barely-there exhale of disappointment. The kitchen is his territory, after all. Sheโd practically be caught trespassing, leaving her things in places they should not be. She carefully sets the cup down, rubbing the bridge of her nose. โ Mon dieu, Emmrich ees going to keel me. โE was already reluctant to lend eet to me, and nowโฌโฌnow eet smells like a market stall. โ she groans softly, dragging a hand through her dark curls before sighing, โ You theenk โe likes onions ? โ












