Mmm… Citrus… Tangy and acidic and tongue smacking. I felt my mouth water at just the scent. Those sort of fruits were uncommon in Ferelden. There was the kinds that were either so sweet you craved more, or so sour you felt as though you would not ever be able to eat again.
Once a year, Papa managed to find one of these delicate fruits. Orange as the sun, and twice as bright and shimmering when he brought it. Once a year, around All Saints Day, the family gathered, extended as well as immediate, and at the end of the simple meal we all shared it. A slice each.
Oh, how I reveled in that taste, each year. I remember one year I tried to sneak an extra slice, there being one left over after… Well after my mother died. He’d always calculated so carefully. Except for that year. And we all understood why. I was just… insensitive I suppose. Young, stupid and insensitive.