here lies one whose name was writ in water.

The moment captured here is special to me. When I made a relationship with Gale an official part of this character's background, I customized a lot of the story in my head. This is how I envisioned Gale's confession would have gone, with a setting personalized to Damaia (and also less to do with his "last night alive", since in my version of events they basically met in Act 3, after Moonrise). He needed some help from Halsin and his druid magic to grow the flowers - but of course in usual Gale style, they were enhanced with constellation-like illusions to make them special.

I don't have a full scene written out for this moment... but in the notes for my current D&D campaign, I occasionally jot down extra moments that I imagine happening "off-screen", and I do have one that pulls from this that I'm actually kind of proud of. There's too many campaign-specific references in it, so putting it here is mainly for me as usual.

But if anyone comes across this and wants some context - on this day in-game my group had just finished a mini arc in Barovia, where Damaia faced old demons, discovered horrible truths about the nature of the Domains of Dread, and believed she inadvertently caused the death of one of her oldest friends. It was a rough day for her, to say the least (also in this campaign our home base is in Sigil, where the only spell that can make contact from another plane is Sending. So I imagine Gale checks in every couple days or so, but no real conversations can be had with that 25 word limit).

* . °•↟ᨒ•°☆☾ ∵ ☽☆°•ᨒ↟•° . *

A Sending message from Gale enters Damaia's mind, sounding playful: Does Ella’s use of evocation have you missing my own days of destruction? I could always return from the soft art of illusion, for you.

She responds with: It’s strange how Sigil has a night despite no sun or sky. I can’t think as clearly anymore when the stars are blocked from view. 

Her tone is somber, almost melancholy, filling Gale with immediate alarm. For the first time since she willingly left Waterdeep, he sends a second Sending: Say the word and I’ll conjure them for you across the realms. I’m sure I could devise a way. <a pause> I am here for you, love.

I’d prefer to see your eyes, actually. And your face. Throw in the head, torso, arms, and legs too, please. <a pause of her own> Thank you. Love you.

Gale is rattled, but her joke makes him feel some amount of ease. His miniscule comfort feels widely inadequate, and it burns him inside to not know what had happened. But he knows she can get through this. She’d proven it time and time again.

As he’s thinking before bed, he realizes he has something he’s never had to use before. A variation of Programmed Illusion, that he managed to permanently cast on Damaia’s union ring but never told her. He’d been saving it for either something special - or a time of need. Which may be right now. 

He casts Sending a third time: If a reminder of my feelings could provide any comfort, speak the greatest words I’ve ever heard from you to your ring with closed palm.

I don’t have time to figure that out before responding, so I’ll say ‘thank you’ now. I bet it’s over the top - and wonderful.

Damaia finds a quiet corner of the sanctum, away from her companions. She thinks it over, and first tries softly saying “You were right, Gale” to her ring. Nothing happens.

She spends a few more minutes wracking her brain, pacing back and forth. Could it be something from their wedding day? She hadn’t spoken any vows during the ceremony, hadn’t wanted to speak her feelings publicly. She did express to him how she felt later in private, but it wasn’t anything fancy or rehearsed. 

She then recalls a special night, in a quiet section of woods outside Baldur’s Gate. Gale had told her something very important, and in a moment of clarity she had responded with words she’d never said before. She repeats them now in a whisper to her ring - “I’m in love with you too.” She sees a glow between the curled fingers of her fist. Gingerly opening her hand, there is an illusion of a blossom from her childhood home, one of the many local flower varieties that Gale had conjured for her that night in the past. Just like then, this illusory version of the flower is enhanced. The veins in the petals glow and pulse, the surface of each glitter with tiny sparkles like stars, giving the impression of linking constellations.

Damaia sinks slowly to the floor, staring at the bloom in her palm. A tear rolls down her cheek - whether a happy or sad one, it’s hard to say. After a few minutes, the flower fades. She clutches her now empty hand gently to her chest, lost in thought on the floor for a bit longer.

It’s strange, how the flower reminds her of multiple things at once. Her childhood, the loss of it; the first time Gale told her he loved her; that period back then of finally dealing with the aftermath of Barovia, and the weight of her new mysterious patron. Her life has changed many times over the years. She’s weathered dark times, but also experienced pure joys. She’s contemplated her true place in the world. She still has so much to learn.