Really I looked at her and saw what I wanted to be. Same interests, similar looks, just somehow a thousand time better. And I wasn’t angry of jealous when I saw her, just utterly in awe. Because right there was my idea of perfection, personified in a slightly creepy, art-loving goddess.
(A crumpled note, written in shaky, spidery script. Some of the words are heavily crossed out.)
the monsters are said to come from the hubris of men, and is it perhaps the same sin again to drink their blood, to become something more than mortal, less than sane. there is no glory in this; no justification for becoming half-men.
(The script is unintelligible here, too scribbled to decipher.)
these days i don’t feel much besides pain, hunger. my dreams are as dark as they were when i first took the oath, and there are half-formed things lurking at the corners of my eyes. i see darkspawn everywhere. they told me I would know when the day had come for me to join my brothers and sisters amongst the ruins of the dwarven cities, to lay my bones down next to theirs.
i imagine i have discovered that day, and I may even be a little overdue.
i feel bloated with the sickness
I pray to sweet Andraste hope that this letter finds you well, love, dearest, heart, friend. may your feet ever be swift, and the youth never plucked from you.
a final farewell, Rakol Cousland
(Cousland was the Hero of the Fifth Blight. This was written shortly before his death. It is unknown who the letter was for.)
I felt that she was the kind of girl I could rant to. She wouldn’t just listen, but encourage, and provide insight. I could scream about feminism at three in the morning and she would be there, nodding intently and probably screaming along. Building up our arguments together, we would be unstoppable. We could take conquer the world. It doesn’t sound like much, but to me it was everything. See, passion is what makes a person beautiful, and she exuded such pure passion it radiated from her skin like sunlight, illuminating the world for all who knew her.
One look and I could tell she was, in essence, wild. Because that was really the only way to describe the sheer power she radiated. Untamable, unfathomable. Both expressive and completely unreadable. Each movement she made was an elaborately choreographed dance; I wanted to be swept off my feet. She was a tempest, a twister, and I couldn’t help but long to be sucked in and destroyed. I wouldn’t mind the hurt. To be hurt by a being like her would be a blessing.