“We’ll grow old together, by the seaside!” Beatrice’s voice was a lark, laughter in her mind and curled around that Fereldan tongue. “We could go to Gwaren, there’s… there was a lighthouse there. Big sturdy thing cut out from the cliffs. Live out our days until we’re fat old ladies and all the village children come for tales of the Inquisition.”
meme: sweeney todd | @merdedeporc | accepting
Grow old together by the seaside. Old, older. That thought frightened her, could she withstand the fact that ( even if this was not a joke, a dream, a make-believe that two friends might have before preparing a drink at the end of a long day ) she would not only witness Beatrice growing older while she would not, but also watch her die? How much more was she willing to witness and attach herself to knowing that she would eventually lose it, either by her own hand or natural death?
Even that term seemed strange, natural death.
It had a strange note to it, something unnatural. Or perhaps for this age her line of thought was the unnatural one. Her mind runs laps, reminding her that if Beatrice knew who and what she was that she would not be so ready to think that her suggestion was so great. And although images of them living together away from the chaos seemed comforting, knowing that someone would be willing to care for her despite her scars and her way of... being the person that Beatrice cares for does not really exist and the priestess knew she would eventually catch on. It would be a short time of bliss, but a time of bliss nonetheless.
In the end, it didn’t matter. She had her duties for her People, for her Children and as much as she wanted to be selfish and enjoy a split second of bliss she knew that she could not. Still, she could imagine it even if for a few seconds.
“That does sound wonderful, one day I must take you to Rivain. The Ocean is... something else.” not like mountains, or seas of trees, or snow valleys. There was nothing that could compare to the smell of the ocean with golden sands between her toes.
