Disclaimer: I don't own Morrigan or the other Dragon Age characters. Ophelia Cousland's all mine, however. Song lyrics aren't mine.
Chapter 21 - Skinny Love
–– Please listen to "Epilogue" by Byung Woo Lee while reading the first section.
All was fairly silent and still.
Then simple strokes on a piano keyboard resonated the prelude to a melancholic melody. It soared across mosaic marble floor then diffused allover a magnificent ballroom hall.
The elegant tune was infinitely innocent yet couples were inexplicably lured to embellish the romantic venue with the grace of their feet. They trickled through the expanse gradually in sync, their radiance amplified by the combined vivid luminance of multiple chandeliers.
Morrigan held her breath, dreading the captivating feeling it compressed within her chest. She would've persisted, if not for the familiar figure fluctuating at the top right corner of her eye.
Her sights diverted toward the dither and she was asphyxiated once again.
Gliding down a curved flight of stairs – much like a poised egret – was her treasured Grey Warden, clad in a long, lean, delicate dress. With one hand on the ebony railing, her very emanation was a warm murmur in the winter night along with the crisp, cooling, tinkling waft of the autumn wind.
Numbed and tensed by the sibylline glass orbs, Morrigan exhaled carefully, lips parted by a fraction.
Ophelia completed her descent and smiled an exquisite smile before serenely strutting through the mere ten feet which separated them.
Morrigan couldn't comprehend why she found it mesmerizing that they both exhibited tulle gowns which had many similarities yet were quite the opposites.
Ophelia's was ivory, Chantilly laced, and crafted with gauzy silk while Morrigan's was a phantom, embroidered with flowers, and crafted with semi-nude chiffon. Ophelia was dream-like and rhapsodic while, in turn, Morrigan was dark and nymphlike. However, together, they carried a fragility and seductiveness so unique but ultimately complemented each other.
"Your hand." The modestly spruced rogue leisurely lent a palm, her spine straight.
Too occupied in her pulchritude, Morrigan had forgotten to flee from that horrific possibility. "What?" She eyed the hand and momentarily feigned ignorance, hastily disapproving afterwards with eyes glaring either side, "No. Not in front of an audience."
Ophelia chuckled briefly, "The more reason to dance," then she grabbed her wrist and led her to the dance floor, disregarding permission, "I'll take care of you." Her eyes never abandoned the apostate's.
"No! Ophe––" Morrigan whined but the entrancing song opened for a transition, subtle strings joining the piano, thus she was gingerly pulled by the waist with delight, Ophelia guiding her calmly with proper posture.
Fretful, Morrigan gripped tightly at the tanned shoulder and hand then gazed at the flowy ends of their dresses as if to search for help, her steps clumsy in comparison.
One, two, three. One–no–two, two, three.
"Morrigan," Ophelia christened. "Look at me."
Thus, Morrigan looked.
With that gentleness, she allowed herself to be secured and, like a feather caught by a breeze, just realized herself swaying harmoniously with her lover in under a few seconds.
The blonde smirked sweetly in glory of her accomplishment, lips a humbling peach rose. In accordance, her hair was parted cleanly to a side and with a low hanging ponytail behind, showcasing her sharp simplicity.
Morrigan couldn't be too irritable with that conceited yet assuring face – she did quite enjoy the dance and reveling in their romance – so she returned the gesture, even though half the enthusiasm.
Glimpsing at the other more experienced couples, she was incredibly grateful for the relaxed tempo, providing her ample time to adjust and become somewhat as competent.
She was engrossed and inspired as they circled the dance floor effortlessly for half a minute like orbiting planets. There was something incredibly soothing with the twinkle in those diamond eyes and confident hold.
Once it was becoming customary bliss, the piano ceased to play – startling her for a second.
But then the symphony orchestra came alive and opened the doors to paradise with their passionate violin family, inducing dramatic yet uplifting momentum to their waltz.
Morrigan gasped inwardly as the breeze carried her faster, their slides and rotations more ardent than the last and causing their gowns and her wavy tresses to flow smoothly in rapport.
"This is fun, huh?" Ophelia beamed amidst their effervescent whirling, "More fun than gawking at least." She didn't even stagger for a breath.
Morrigan tittered lowly in response, "Oh, yes. 'Tis ve~ry lovely," then she bowled her eyes skywards, sarcastic but a tad sincere.
Ophelia giggled and tested her enthusiasm by adding an abrupt alternative, twirling her daintily once, admiring her bloom with her gown like a rose, then tugging her back resolutely to the usual position.
Morrigan gulped. "Don't do that again," she glared and clawed at the mischief's skin, suppressing the temptation to introduce her own rendition of the waltz.
Cognizant, Ophelia just beheld her with amused eyes, secretly scheming for the next calculated assault.
Not that Morrigan couldn't distinguish it from her body language.
...And not that she truly loathed being twirled, either.
Bickering aside, the euphony's enthralling haze inevitably settled back in their atmosphere and all the details within their surroundings were magnified.
For instance: the glamorous lights which highlighted their jewelries, their alluring perfumes which teased at their longing, the speculative eyes of their friends who had just congratulated their king and queen, and the unblemished waxed floor which reflected their recherché forms.
A flock of birds may not have been roused to the dome ceiling, but everything was subliminal enough to rouse their certain emotions.
It was so emotional that... Eventually, the amused eyes regressed to austere – and strangely lamentable – eyes that Morrigan couldn't complain when she was prompted to detach from her with only their one extended arm symmetrically latched onto each other, side-by-side, facing the opposite direction yet irises captured in a serious rivet.
The rotation finished with a tender trace of their exposed arms, fingers like a whisper – then hooking selfishly and returning them to the basic six count.
Morrigan cringed from a pang of mysterious pain as Ophelia kept funereal. Her hold was the same but everything else with her regal visage wasn't.
She sought the ring and saw it on her neck, hung by a gold band of more fashionable material.
Still, she couldn't understand.
Obscurity clouded the air and she wished she could ask why.
Then she heard the reminder of the violins – its flutter from high to low and then again.
And had always known why.
Two weeks had passed since the death of the archdemon and the end of the Fifth blight. It was a joyous celebration and momentous occasion as Alistair was crowned king of Ferelden and married Anora to remain their queen. Subsequently, Ophelia was dubbed the country's hero and granted the titles for the Teyrnirs of Highever and Gwaren (which Loghain had to relinquish.) In addition, the arling of Amaranthine (which formerly belonged to Howe) was given to the Grey Wardens to help rebuild their organization.
At the wedding but out of nowhere, Ophelia miraculously stumbled upon Fergus and was mindbogglingly overwhelmed. In her mind, she had already accepted that he had died in the scouting mission prior to the battle of Ostagar, away from Highever when it was ambushed. Fortunately, he had survived and was nursed back to health by some Chasind Wilders. It was a lengthy process until he was able to travel, but he was grateful enough to have made it to Denerim in time to reunite and congratulate his younger sibling. Fundamentally, that was everything he did. With the tragic news barely sinking in and his coping just beginning, he chose to depart the royal palace sooner than later in avoidance of extraneous conversation. Besides their parents, he had also lost his wife, Oriana, and son, Oren. Hence, Ophelia empathized without question and consented him to journey back to their home. Then within a few days, worried and homesick, she immediately followed after him with Morrigan by her side.
In the year Highever was inhabited by Howe's minions, at the very infinitesimal, they repaired the physical structure that they had destroyed. Additionally, their people had generally been safe from the darkspawn when they were not protected. And some of the villagers who had relocated away from Howe's government were slowly coming back.
Truly examining her home, not much had changed. Its walls were still lofty and fortified. Its inhabitants were still plenty and kind. Its castle was still filled with lavish furniture, well-equipped guards, and loyal servants. Her bed was still cozy and refined. But it was in realizing these things that she discovered only her family and closest friends were gone – and only that meant so much more – and that she, herself, was the one that drastically changed.
Taking into account how her brother stayed sluggish from despair, Ophelia fought to preserve his remaining outlook in life using testimony of her own wrestle between life and suicide. She divulged most of everything – even the demon that she was, which she hadn't confessed to him or anyone in their family. At each point, Morrigan was there to advocate and emphasize the confidentiality of the topic, ensuring it was to be kept a secret. He reacted positively to the jaw-dropping stories and showed decent progress right after, efficiently preparing him for what Ophelia had premeditated in Denerim – a farewell party for her second family.
Fast-forwarding to the present and that event, their people were livelier and more than hospitable, briefed of their special guests whom included King Alistair Therein.
The brilliant sun hovered at the peak of the sky, aligning for midday and proving the lingering heat of summer. Luckily, the mollifying wind blew any annoyances aside and bolstered the promising day. Either way, the numerous boots which clicked dauntlessly on cobblestone pavement would've clicked dauntlessly, regardless of the weather.
"Been waiting for you guys all morning," Ophelia droned while she marched towards the estate's entry gates along with a few others behind her. Once there, she presented a palm and more keenly began, "Welcome. I'm guessing it was an easy trip? No one mauled by darkspawn or mugged by bandits?" She scanned the equally pleasant crowd who mumbled undecidedly before saying no's and/or shaking their heads.
Just when she was about to chuckle weakly at their reply, a familiar voice piqued her interest.
"Hey sexy thing."
Her eyes broadened at the soft voice with underlying wanton. "Isabela." She was about to 'professionally' approach the dark-skinned woman emerging from the group – when she was pinched on a sleeve then hauled backwards by a particular witch like a sorry chained prisoner. Thusly, she obediently stayed put without a scowl. "Glad you could come. It's good to see you," she announced in substitute, teeth shining with glee.
"Same to you," Isabela winked then glanced peculiarly at the sour mage who telepathically choked her. "And to your striking lover, if I might add," she cajoled, noticing her new and more civilized outfit.
Morrigan scoffed, half-lidded eyes evading contact. She sported a low cut tank top, skintight trousers, and knee-length boots. The way her hair was bundled just above the nape of her neck, and dangled careless yet luscious wavy locks, bore proof of her brand new lifestyle and successful employment of a hairdresser.
Observant of the neglected man behind her, Ophelia cleared her throat then beckoned for him to draw closer. Her friends gave their full contemplation and she smiled proudly, "Some of you might've seen this fellow during the coronation, but it was a busy day and... Well, he fled before I could urge him to speak with everyone." She delayed to eye him as if for clarification, then rightfully declared, "Anyway, he's feeling much better now. So, without further ado, I'd like to officially introduce Fergus." She patted him on the shoulder firmly and snickered, "My humble servant."
"Hello everyone. That's me." Fergus simpered but played the part indifferently anyway, waving a hand for a second with a collected and self-assured posture.
Not to totally snub the truth, Ophelia supplemented, "And he's also my handsome older brother, as you see..." She caressed his stubbled face exaggeratedly.
Fergus acted like a soothed pet, relaxing a little from her touch, "Ah, thank you, sis. I couldn't perceive any sarcasm with that one."
"Mmm... He looks yummy," Isabela concurred with a minor lip bite.
"Older?" Wynne quirked a brow then hurriedly excused her skepticism, "I'm sorry, you always seemed like you would be the eldest."
"Hehe. I can see the similarities," Leliana scrutinized the silly duo who feebly slapped each other's faces (instigated by Fergus' limp swat of Ophelia's hand then her retaliation.) They were stoical and focused about their business like eight other people weren't there.
"Bagh! And no sister?! What other lies have you kept from us?!" Oghren grumbled indignantly on the other hand.
"It wouldn't be a lie if it was not told, my friend," Zevran corrected, propping an elbow on the dwarf's shoulder languidly.
In response to Oghren, Fergus draped an arm over the blonde for a semi-hug, ceasing their lighthearted battle, "She is my only sister, this much is true. But she is my favorite." He pinched her cheek thoroughly.
Ophelia shook out of it then faked a cackle, "Hahaha~ You're stuck with me."
"Anyhow, we are very glad to have you all here. Sis has told me much of your adventures. And her..." Fergus beheld the soundless temptress, "Tumultuous but incredibly romantic relationship with Morrigan... Who completely stupefied me, by the way, for reasons I think most of you are aware of."
To wipe the dumb looks or irritating leers away, Morrigan enlightened sharply, "I look like Moira, for those with wandering or inert minds."
Then as soon as Oghren snorted – loud barking echoed against brick walls and snatched their undivided attention.
"Nutella!" Zevran exclaimed instantaneously and spread his arms out for the war hound that raced towards them.
But his grin was replaced with a frown when the ecstatic mutt deliberately pounced into Sten's arms (which were apathetically crossed.)
"Good... Dog..." the seven-foot warrior managed to utter flatly in the midst of slobbering licks.
Crestfallen, Zevran hunched his back, "But of course, he would miss a big brawny qunari more than a little bitty elf such as I."
Leliana pulled the sad assassin and allowed him to instinctively lean on her shoulder before she consoled, "Aww... It's okay, Zev..." She petted the side of his head, chuckling meekly, "But I think it's because Sten plays a whole lot more with him than you do."
In the spur of the moment, Morrigan regarded Ophelia and probed in disquisition, "I am not too well-informed with proper names for animals, let alone mabaris. However, does Nutella not sound like a female name more than a male one?"
The owner winced like she was offended, questioning her with furrowed eyebrows, "Here you are again with your judgmental impudence. Have you not hurt enough feelings?"
Perceptive, Shale made clear, "I have built a rocky bridge and gotten over it long ago, but I appreciate the concern."
Morrigan dabbed some condescension to her tone, "I am merely asking. Is it so pitiable of me to be observing these things from a logical standpoint?"
While she was babbling, Zevran had hastily grabbed the paws of the dog who had moved on to sniffing their boots. He posed him suitably, then proclaimed, "My magical woman, that is because it is obvious that this mighty beast is utterly gaaay!"
"Ah, yes..." Isabela bent a tad and investigated Nutella like an aspiring scientist, "I can see it in the comely wag of his tail."
"Of course," Ophelia nodded convincingly, both fists on either curve of her hips, "he's a fabulous homosexual hound. That is precisely why I named him that."
"You win. Whatever," Morrigan sighed, irascibly adjusting a side bang out of her view.
Leliana rubbed at Nutella's belly as Zevran upheld him, "He's so cute. I wonder if he has any idea of what we're talking about."
Nutella simply panted and drooled.
Scrutinizing the diverse individuals, Fergus approved of the banter, "Such a jovial group, indeed." Then, remembering their agenda, he inquired, "Sis, why don't we let them come in and talk inside instead of out here?"
"Good idea," Ophelia nodded then projected her voice, "Alright, everyone. Follow me. Let's not bore the king from impatience." As usual, she twisted definitively then primarily took the lead, ambling ahead and signaling their next destination.
While they walked, they collectively stared at the laurel wreaths symbol on the Cousland family banners which hanged marvelously on the walls, tweeting birds increasing the heartening aura.
Highever rightfully belonged to the Couslands.
Approximately halfway toward the main entrance to a vestibule, Ophelia noted with utmost resolution, "Keep an eye out for anything that belongs to Howe. I'd like to dispose of the garbage as soon as possible."
Stainless metal tinkled against glass, the classy sound resonating in the wine room as rich burgundy liquid was poured.
"Is that..." Alistair peeped, perplexed by the beverage being fixed, "Grape juice?"
"For Morrigan," Ophelia informed while arranging the circular tray and its contents, "This is what she's been having, though she looks tipsy."
Ironically, the two nobles were the ones who prepared the next set of drinks for the clamorous crowd in another room.
Settling the two bottles he retrieved on the countertop, Alistair particularly ascertained, "She doesn't like wine anymore?"
Ophelia multitasked tranquilly, concentrating not to spill. "She thinks this is wine."
Dissatisfied with her answer, Alistair inched closer and pried, "But why isn't she drinking––?"
No matter the amount of his curiosity, the blonde couldn't be interrupted, handling and mixing liquor like an alchemist.
Alistair gawked at her, still hopeful for enlightenment. It was only after a minute of quiet that he sighed and decided to move on, "Anyway, never mind that. Will you explain to me now how you survived?" He surveyed the chamber to ensure no one was eavesdropping then continued to murmur by her side, "I passed by your room that night, you know. To check on you. I heard noises – muffled groans – and thought... Morrigan must be raping someone." He reeled back slightly, repulsed by his reminiscing. "But it's crazy because you would never consent to that, would you? And it was in your room." Concluding his claim, he disappointedly shook his head. "I couldn't handle it and left before I heard more..."
Ophelia finished refilling the last wine glass and pivoted around to directly assert on him, "Listen and be quiet. I'll only say this once..." She reclined against the countertop and held his gaze firmly, calculating his trustworthiness before uttering below her breath, "Morrigan is pregnant."
"Pregn––?!" In a flash, Alistair's bewilderment was concealed by a hand.
"She doesn't want any attention. Don't tell anyone," Ophelia virtually glowered at him as she applied pressure on his mouth before releasing.
Speechless, Alistair's jaw dropped and his eyes scattered on the floor, scrutinizing its tiles over and over for an explanation. Once he nearly dizzied himself, he massaged his temples and tried his luck at asking, "But how? Who's the father?"
Ophelia swallowed then grinned cooly, "I am."
"Uh... Pardon?" Alistair shouted a whisper, the urgency and discombobulation evident in his tone and posture, "Did I just hear you say...?"
Unwilling to leak more, Ophelia resumed to work and took the tray. The Templar tailed her like a wagon, hence, she generously imparted to him at the exit, "Don't tell anyone. Not even Leliana or Zevran or Fergus. Nobody knows but you."
Alistair smacked his forehead and scoured his face, "Maker's–––" Then he hurriedly caught up with her as she ambled out the tall door. "H-how?! No explanation?"
Ophelia sustained her grit, not even allowing him her glimpse, "Someday, I'll say more. But not now."
Alistair pestered by her side with bug eyes, "You swear? You swear you'll tell me?"
"Yes! I'll tell everyone eventually," Ophelia snarled in the most mutter-like way.
Alistair frowned like a kid but threatened like a thug, "You better tell, else I'll have you imprisoned."
Ophelia jeered, "That's some balls to be threatening me, Sir Majesty." Amused by his guts, she teased, "You slept with Anora, didn't you?"
"No! By the–– No!" Alistair complained with fright, shivering in the faintly lit hall. "Every time I see her, I see Loghain somehow. It's horrible!" he threw his arms up from the absurdity.
"It's all in your mind," Ophelia accounted as they entered lofty double doors, "Just like Morrigan being tipsy."
The absence of noise in the hallway totally equated with the transpiring situation in the opulently spaced and decorated living room.
"Alright Zevran, what are the stakes?" Morrigan was tapping impatiently on the ebony coffee table.
"Good question, my magical woman," the elf flicked the corners of his faced down cards, contemplating for a solution.
"Loser licks Oghren's foot! Loser licks Oghren's foot!" Isabela suggested repeatedly with exhilaration, a fist pumping the air. She couldn't care less of her provocativeness as she bounced on the lap of a cheerful Fergus.
"Sure, I'd like that. Hehehehehe~" the dwarf sniggered and raised his huge mug.
Zevran's head drooped ashamedly. "How shall I say this... Oh... This is difficult." Before Morrigan could recommend something, he instantly babbled enthusiastically, "Whoever loses must disrobe then prance around the room naked for ten seconds!"
Morrigan recoiled on the couch. "And how is your disrobing winning for me? I do not wish to be repulsed!"
"How can you be so sure that you will not enjoy it?" Zevran queried like a renowned philosopher.
"That is a fair question to ask..." Morrigan let a smile settle for maximum effect, "Because I am not mentally challenged."
Isabela faked a frown and criticized like a bully, "Oh come on, bitchy tits. Were the Wilds so unaccommodating for such a delicate flower to grow into such a party pooper?"
Morrigan sighed indifferently then admitted, legs crossing with grace, "My mother and I may not have had the luxury of man's civilization, this is true. However..." Her tone was the epitome of the condescending yet unaffected. "'Tis far better to grow into a party pooper than a brown noser – use that under multiple contexts."
"HAAA–––!" Ophelia exaggerated with a boisterous single clap that the rest took the cue and cackled. "I can't help you with that one." She had paused from delivering drinks and hunched over to strive to catch her breath, laughing while standing, hands braced on an armrest.
Isabela's mouth was in the form of a capitalized 'o' as nearly everyone teared up from joy. "Damn... She called me a brown noser..." the pirate looked to Zevran for emphasis on her disbelief, "She called me a brown noser."
"In Isabela's defense," the Antivan scratched his nose austerely as if for serious imagery, "I rather like her brown nose brown nosing."
"Zevran!" Isabela slapped the now chuckling man beside Fergus.
"Fine. Fiiine~" Zevran tended to his stinging arm and eventually composed himself, negotiating once more with the temptress across him, "Alright... I will lick Oghren's foot if you win. But if I win, you will do this for me."
"No. 'Tis not a fair wager," Morrigan disputed uncompromisingly.
"Would you rather lick Oghren's foot?" Zevran reasoned with a witty brow.
Taking the opportunity, Ophelia quickly rose from her slothful sprawl on the carpeted floor and mandated, "As the host, I am now exercising the power to veto that wager and, using ordinance number..." she referred a hand to Fergus for assistance.
"Two hundred twenty-seven," he improvised skillfully.
"I am substituting another wager which I shall come up with now..." Ophelia stroked her chin contemplatively, "Morrigan shall kiss Leliana: openmouthed, with tongue, and closed eyes for ten seconds, should she lose."
Morrigan scoffed at the verdict, "You two should start a factory, producing such rich manure."
Leliana panicked, reeling and shaking her head, "Me? Why are we involving me?"
"Forgive me if I choose to shut my eyes for a minute or two," the old woman, contiguous to the archer, buried her forehead in a palm.
"Come on my darling Leliana, do not be a spoilsport. Take one for the team!" Zevran encouraged with a smirk.
"Incentive!" Isabela unclasped a pricey necklace and threw it to Leliana.
"Oh... Andraste..." the red head caught it hesitantly.
"Most curious... The swamp witch is not complaining," Shale commented from a corner of the room.
"Hmm..." Sten approved alongside her.
"If 'tis between disrobing or not. I choose the not," Morrigan rejoined, "And I'm rather not the 'party pooper' I used to be."
Isabela grinned to Zevran, "At least I contributed to this."
The elf heard and declared at once, before Morrigan reconsidered, "Then it is decided!" He flipped his cards and conceitedly revealed a pocket of aces.
"Ugh..." Morrigan had already predicted her slim luck as Isabela took liberty to expose the river – and it wasn't in her pocket of kings' favor.
Everybody in the room gawped in anticipation.
"I did not think I would actually lose with this hand. Uggh!" she tossed her cards with ire then grabbed ahold of her head like she was going crazy, "What manner of sorcery is with me..." Only a second died before she ruthlessly clawed Leliana's jaw and delved her tongue down her throat.
"Mmm!" Leliana's sapphires broadened while she gripped the forearm of the seductress next to her.
Amazed by the act, Ophelia kneeled on the ground bordering them and watched keenly.
Morrigan sensed her presence and impulsively switched to kiss her, eyes welded shut as their mouths collided.
"Hmmmm..." Sten could be discerned humming.
"Too much... Must watch..." Oghren strained to remain conscious.
"Dear Maker..." Leliana gasped.
In a twinkling in her dazed state, Morrigan opened her eyes fleetingly.
But what she realized absolutely heated her blood to a boil.
Ophelia was in front of her but the lips she connected with weren't hers. "You–!" she glowered at the rascal.
"Care to continue in my room?" the rascal snickered.
"YOU––––!" Morrigan screeched at the proud Rivaini abutting the rascal.
"NoooOOO!" Ophelia screamed as she blocked the witch who tried to punch Isabela, "Aaa~hhh!" It rammed against her chest. "Morrigan!"
Morrigan smacked her out of the way and went after the duelist who bolted out of her reach.
"Let's not be hasty!" Isabela utilized the sofa (Alistair, Zevran, and Fergus were on) as a barrier between them. "It is common knowledge to talk before doing something so––!"
Morrigan's eyes were ablaze and so were her fists. "We'll speak when I roast you alive, filthy pig!" She hurled them and they missed, breaking windows and enflaming its curtains.
While the group endeavored to apprehend the mage or kill every fire started, Isabela endeavored to bribe, "I have a booty containing plenty of jewels! Surely, we can cut a––"
"I'll cut you!" Morrigan snarled.
Worn out just listening, Wynne shook her head. "Children..."
Immediately after the fifth fireball, Morrigan felt dizzy and stumbled against a chair, approximately tripping over it.
"Morrigan!" Ophelia hauled her on the waist before she fell, "Exhausted?" she turned her around to inspect her.
She grazed her fingers tenderly around the face of the dark head who was limp against her hold, warm to the touch, and had unfocused eyes.
Satisfied with her review, Ophelia maneuvered them so that Morrigan was on her back, "Let's take you to bed. You need rest."
"Must you... Carry me this way?" Morrigan complained as she clasped her arms around her neck.
"I'm weak!" Ophelia exclaimed, hooking her arms around her legs.
The group stared and giggled as their leader trudged toward the door, heart-warmed by the madness simmering into something sweet.
The lovers were mostly quiet in their voyage to the bedroom, merely footsteps reverberating in the dimly lit halls.
But in nearing their bedroom, Ophelia uttered, "You really are pregnant. Your fatigue is a sign."
Morrigan was almost asleep when she countered snappishly, "And you living wasn't?"
"Of course it was," Ophelia smiled, charmed by the evident signs of her pregnancy, "If you're so cranky now, I wonder how you'd be months from now."
"You tricked me into kissing that... Filthy pirate."
"Stop lying." She twisted a door knob and entered their room, the cooler breeze from the windows greeting them. "It's not too late to try more." Arriving at the bed itself, she allowed her passenger to gently slide off her physique.
In between the removal of her shoes and her getting in bed, Morrigan warned intermittently, "If you... Participate... In their orgy... I will turn you... Into dust."
"Okay," Ophelia just beamed while tucking her in.
Gratified by the comfort of their soft bed, Morrigan mellowed and asked, "Did I hurt you?"
Ophelia put a hand on her chest as if to check. "Stings a little," she chose to say if just for conversation.
Spotting her sarcastic plea for sympathy, Morrigan exhaled contentedly, "Good." Then she raised a hand to cup the feminine face sweetly, scanning every centimeter for a detailed image for when she dreams.
A month passed and Morrigan had gotten accustomed to the glamorous life (a perk from living with a noblewoman.) She wore whole new sets of clothes, commanded her own set of servants, ate diverse, delectable food, had a painting done for her, and whatever else she coveted.
But living with a Teyrna also comprised of a weekly outing routine: of visiting a village to check on their defenses, of examining a grassy field where more farms could be established, of strategizing and assigning guards to different residences, of negotiations with traders, of political trips, etcetera.
Of course, she didn't have to accompany her every time, only when she preferred it. There were instances where she was still bothered by the Grey Warden's choices. One would assume that after traveling a year with her and, most importantly, being her lover, she would've been more tolerant. Not her. She still barked and hissed, especially when the subject being discussed was a weakling in need – which occurred very often, with a benevolent figure.
Ophelia normally handled those dilemmas by carefully rebuking the witch then expounding on it later in private. Ofttimes, Morrigan would surrender the debates but not be completely swayed by it, just like their tussles about quest choices. In which case, Ophelia only asked for her trust, promising fruitful results for them and their teyrnir. Since, ultimately, she desired Morrigan's whole understanding and, if possible, her more involved cooperation in the future.
For the apostate, the humanitarian excursions weren't as frustrating as, for example, sneaking inside the Deep Roads merely to destroy the Anvil of the Void. Also, for a bizarre reason, the people of Highever generally treated her genially, if not for her beauty and vanity – for her comical interactions with their beloved Teyrna (which really wasn't that comical for her.)
When she did get visibly frustrated, the best things about living in Highever was presented to her by none other than the diplomatic nutcase. The hopeless romantic would bring her to dine in a fanciful restaurant, row down a river with a canoe, promenade through the forest to end in a hot spring, amongst other things.
And after a lengthy day of hard work, which consisted of helping (or being coerced) to cure an injured traveler, it was only proper for her to be inveigled for a 'lovely' hike up a mountain as compensation.
Which she was kind of getting tired of – with the slope becoming steeper after every step.
"Where are you taking me?" Morrigan huffed petulantly, boots wading through a sea of crisp leaves.
Darkness was plaguing the sunlight's remainder, bugs were spraying her face, and she was breaking a sweat. If the scoundrel didn't unearth what there was to unearth, the Sixth Blight would begin anew.
"We're almost there," Ophelia tried to appease, but to little effect. Trudging towards a dead-end, she halted in front of its jagged wall then pleasantly extended an arm for the witch, "Grab my hand. We must climb this rock."
Morrigan squinted her eyes and bestowed a condescending once-over.
Climb? For the past thirty minutes, they were already climbing.
Vexed, she trundled her eyes to the treetops then transformed into a bird, speedily proceeding ahead and unto to what appeared to be a mesa.
Ophelia grinned and shook her head to herself as the shapeshifter overtook her. But not to prolong their dawdling, she implanted a foot in a crevice then crawled up the coarseness, properly using its interweaving vines.
In three minutes, she was hove up by a more amiable Morrigan then guided onwards like the mage had been the frequenter.
After ten or twelve steps, the amorous sun was finally exposed, glorifying Highever's landscape with its warm blanket. Moreover, the crescent moon lingered gracefully nearby, as if giving allowance for the sun's spectacular swan song.
That as it may, Ophelia's beaming and astonishment came from something else. "It's still here," she referred to the sophisticated maple tree which she gingerly approached, feet mixing vermillion, tangerine, and a bit of olive verdure.
Below a hefty branch, her hands clasped a pair of hanging ropes. "I can't believe it," she expressed like a mightily impressed child then hopped over the suspended wooden slab and plopped her behind on it. While testing its resistance, her gaze juggled vivaciously over the spectacle, the swing, and the witch. "Moira used to sit here with me, at least once a week," she proclaimed before she pushed her feet and propelled herself back and forth.
Charmed, Morrigan advanced toward the neighboring swing and settled on it. "I can see why," she concurred with the ecstatic reaction then applied her own momentum for undulation. "'Tis a precious view. And apart from the annoying ruckus," she returned her heartwarming smile.
"Then you like it?"
"Yes, I do." Taking advantage of the query, she cleverly complained, "The leveled platform and well-placed trees support concealment lest another wounded adventurer stumble upon us."
Ophelia kinda snorted, "Aa~nd? How does that obstruct me from my way doo~wn?" she had jutted her head in emphasis for the mockery.
Morrigan cracked an emotionless yet sinister smirk, much like a masquerade mask. "If you must feel obligated to alleviate another simpleton's woe, should he arrive, then allow me the small assistance to push you off the ledge for a more prompt descent." Although, the comedy was apparent in her sarcastic tone.
Ophelia snickered, "How kind of you," then she latched her arm securely around a rope to tap on her lips, "I do wonder... What would it take for you to lend a hand to a helpless stranger, maybe even an animal, entirely out of conscience?"
"Well, the answer is simple," Morrigan paused for suspense, "Nothing."
"Uh-huh," Ophelia acquiesced with a nod, "We'll see..."
"We'll see?" Morrigan didn't fancy the wily curve of the obsidian lips. "Do you want to bet?"
Ophelia just preserved her 'you're a liar and you know it' mien while she increased the air speeding against her skin, legs straight, torso inclining in then reclining out and vice-versa.
When autumn leaves precipitated, she deemed it befitting to transition to a new topic. "You look like you've sat on a swing before," she presumed.
On the contrary, Morrigan oscillated steadily. "I have."
Like a kid showing off in a playground, Ophelia fully reclined and was practically lounging in midair. "Have you ever done this?" she boasted, eyeballing the ground upside down in preparation for a backflip.
"No," Morrigan declared nonchalantly then warned with a derisive grin, "I will have you know that if that seat or its ropes snap and you get thrown off that cliff – I will be crying profuse tears and wheezing in pain, laughing my ass off."
Feeling ridiculed, Ophelia postponed her stunt. "Oh yea?" she challenged even as the wide tree branch creaked diminutively.
"What if it snaps right now?" Her ponytail grazed the grass with every dip.
"Then the sooner I will be laughing."
"I don't believe you." She braced herself on the ropes and began to maneuver for a twist. "The last time I almost fell off a cliff you were-"
Leaves exploded as Ophelia face-planted, the plank she previously sat on had broken in half before she could unfasten for the flip.
"Mmffff–!" Morrigan ceased from swinging and nasally suppressed her overjoy, lips puckering in strain from bursting open.
"Pffeeing pyour pffanties from phorror... Pffff..." Ophelia exhaled calmly into the foliage, finishing her sentence with shame.
The way she twirled with style midway... Only to taste the earth's dirt...
"–AHAHAAA––!" Morrigan absolutely cracked up, slapping her knee like she had held her breath for a prolonged moment then wheezing in pain as she mentioned.
Ophelia bent her head up to check the cackler and sniffed in self-pity, "..."
"Thatcouldn't-havesnapped-ata bettertime," Morrigan remarked in sharp puffs as she chuckled uncontrollably and wiped the corners of her eyes, "No–Ihave–never–donethat!"
Her flushed cheeks...
Her subtle dimples...
The swipe of her fringe that each time misplaced from a convulsion of utter joy.
Mesmerized, Ophelia couldn't resist leaning on an elbow and examining her, "I could watch you laugh for the rest of the evening. You're simply adorable." She had her under a magnifying glass. "I should do this more often."
At the statement, Morrigan's countenance abruptly morphed to fit a glower and she hastily regained composure to spit sourly, "Shut up."
It was Ophelia's turn to smirk. "Whaaat?" she shrugged like she had been wrongly accused.
Morrigan merely rolled her eyes for the hundredth time then sighed an unfathomable sigh in order to muster her sanity and stand. She sauntered toward the epic failing jester and reluctantly granted a hand.
Ophelia eyeballed it cautiously (for fear of being fooled) but grasped it too fast to find out. She got on a knee then subsequently got on her feet.
Morrigan was noiseless as the mischief cleaned her casual outfit off of plants and dust. Then eventually staring out into the vast and inspiring horizon, she consequently bordered the edge of the plateau and quizzed, "What other things did you do with her up here?"
Ophelia was scrubbing her forehead when she admitted, "Nothing, really." Although, cognizant of the value of her anecdote, she rambled on behind her, "We just come here to watch the sun as it sets or stargaze. And we talk. Gossip. Joke... With food, occasionally..." She dallied, expecting feedback. Uncovering there was none, she creeped beside her and muttered more sentimentally while picturing the pinkish clouds as distinguishable objects, "When I fell asleep... She brought me home before curfew. And I did it on purpose sometimes, just so she would carry me. Because I wanted to be held."
Fascinated by both the panorama and her paramour, Morrigan ogled her inquisitively and with admiration. As much as she abhorred the emotion, it was humbling to learn of her lover's past. In all her vulnerability, Ophelia had salvaged strength and, therefore, efficiently molded her into the esteemed woman she was now.
But it was exasperating. It was as if she was shoved into a stage with her and she was apprehensive that she would just be a nuisance to her splendor.
"Did you have sex?" The blunt query emerged out of nowhere.
Ophelia jumped a tad at the ludicrousness. "As a child and with her?" She instigated a staring contest for ten seconds but lost after five. "You would ask that question." Amused, she chortled as she confessed, rubbing the nape of her neck coyly, "I wish."
Morrigan stayed blasé. "Do you think she did?"
"This spot was ours. She promised me that."
"So you have technically betrayed her by bringing me here?"
Ophelia pore over her, somewhat aware of where she was leading to. "Perhaps. But I care not," she mimicked her accent.
With that act, Morrigan faced her and gradually slid a suggestive hand on her bicep, massaging her muscle, "Would she be jealous if we did it here?" she tempted with an inquisitive brow, luscious leer, and provocative lip bite.
Ophelia scoffed loudly at first, "I don't know," yet she ruminated for a few seconds, inched closer, and entwined their gloved hands together, considering the proposal with a solemn tone, "But I want to..."
It would be so easy to forget if she forever drowned her sorrows in their intimacy.
The sun barely set as Morrigan was tugged for a kiss, the light poking through their connecting mouths like a needle through a hole.
It was a disaster waiting to happen.
She wasn't certain if it was her hormones or just her. But another month had passed and tried her fortitude.
The political rumble over Amaranthine and, primarily, Vigil's Keep was undeniably far from her field of expertise and was clearly too much for her to tolerate. Both her patience and the conference had the surface tension of water – that was shattered by a weightless pin.
How a single impulsive comment ruined the whole evening.
"Since before the day the Orlesians departed and after our arling's flag was raised, the Howe family owned Amaranthine. Not a second rate Cousland who, from sheer luck, inherited Highever, thanks to the murder of the only living Elstan, a cousin of the Howes," Bann Esmerelle, currently the most powerful nobility in Amaranthine, contended against the woman sitting in the middle of a lengthy wooden table occupied by multiple banns and a tempress.
Ophelia clasped her hands over the furniture and avowed tranquilly, "My family may not have been the true rulers of Highever, but the people have shown enough love that we feel praised us as such." Her spine proved rigid as she discussed, "At any rate, Amaranthine belongs to us now, whether you approve or not. Since that is decided, I suggest we come into terms with each other, for the good of our people."
That pointer was sharp enough to pop the lieutenant's nerves. "We will never replace you for Howe! You murdered him!" Esmerelle had stamped a palm in front of her and bolted up for a stand, thoroughly beleaguered.
She should've kept her lips sealed.
"And he murdered nearly all of the Couslands."
But she didn't really want to.
Esmerelle glared at Ophelia like she had been the culprit. "You better adjust the leash on this slave," she intimidated with utmost scorn, the infuriation emanating off of her middle aged grimace. "If you don't want her head on a pike."
"My, his offsprings should be killed as well. 'Twould only be fair. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."
She had already been signaled to discontinue, yet to surrender wasn't in her nature.
"Shut your mouth, peasant. You have no right to speak here," Esmerelle directly glared at the heckler, at last.
"Bravo. You retorted with futile ad hominem." There was a pause for a contemptuous clap. "An impressive bann, indeed."
"Morrigan," Ophelia cinched the witch's wrist, reprimanding with her touch.
"Is this the type of woman you associate with? A wretch who enjoys speaking out of place?" Esmerelle even eyed the rest of the nobles who acceded under her despotism. "This meeting is adjourned. Highever may be in the hands of the likes of you but not Amaranthine." With her rousing from her seat and storming for the doors, the sycophants trailed behind her like bees.
The doors creaked open then slammed shut.
"Morrigan..." Ophelia had entered and jutted a hand from whence she came. "What was that?"
"That woman spews desperate and incoherent nonsense. 'Twould be to her favor to be shoved out the door!" Morrigan retorted like she deserved to be the angrier between them.
"You know how important that was to me!" Ophelia expressed shame rather than disdain, "How could you do that, Morrigan?"
"Do what? I spared your time, shooing that wretch!"
"It was a diplomatic meeting! A simple sneeze to the wrong side would've provoked the wrong impression! Forget about what she says, the burden to influence is on me!" Ophelia looked to the concave ceiling momentarily, pondering over the mess that was made. "I briefed you on this! How could you be so reckless?!"
"How could I?!" Morrigan virtually rammed her nose to hers as she confronted her more closely. "I'm certain that you felt the same!"
"I did!" Ophelia admitted, "But there is a time and place for everything! You know that!"
"No!" Morrigan denied, "No, I do not!" but in her mind she was aware of what was said and lowered her head as she detached the lock that ensnared their eyes.
"Morrigan..." Ophelia changed her aspect's texture, noticing that the fault shouldn't solely be on the apostate. "I'm sorry..." she sympathized, forcibly welding Morrigan to her body with her arms, "I overreacted. Your impression's worth much more to me than theirs ever could," her lips molded to the bridge of her nose.
Morrigan's hands automatically crept up her back, no matter her disfavor, "You should have that woman assassinated and solve your problem."
"That's the lazy way out." It was murmured to her.
She was well-versed of the Grey Warden's compassion. Why should she expect otherwise? "Fool..."
Using her lips, Ophelia illustrated on her neck, "I love you..."
Morrigan's nails scratched her spine like a rake as she gasped lightly – not from pleasure but from dismay.
A fraction of her wanted to be oppressed – to be beaten to obedience. Since, truthfully, it hurt more not to be.
Inactive yellow eyes slowly opened.
There was weight and warmth pushing on her abdomen.
So she shifted under the heaviness and discovered the blonde head slumped over her, breathing faintly.
She had fallen asleep at dusk and the candles couldn't have lit itself in the dead of night. She was recently watched.
Heartened, she slipped a hand out of the silk covers and curled her fingers over the silky hand reposed by her side.
They were both anxious. She would enter the second trimester. It would be apparent in her form. Everyone would know. Then––
The hand she clutched twitched lightly, somehow stirred in the silence. In response, she brought her own hand to the aristocratic face and caressed it, fingers brushing the tanned cheek up then down like a tide rolling over sand in a shoreline.
"Mm–" A muffled groan. "Morrigan..." A muffled murmur.
Adoring the adorable, Morrigan opted a wisp of a smile then tested the sleepyhead's languor by arranging astray flaxen tresses.
Must be dreaming.
Still discerning no movement to rise, she queried out of the blue, "Would you still find me attractive?" Her voice was at a moderate volume like a normal conversation had started beforehand.
Ophelia scrunched her eyes, dueling with her drowsiness. "Mm–huuh?" she mumbled while she tried to flicker for a gaze.
"Would you?" Morrigan pried, aware that those clever ears had heard.
Attentive, Ophelia gradually ordained herself to adjust her prone figure, twisting from a facedown to a fetal position. "When your..." She rubbed her eyes like it would refresh her mind. "Belly's bulged?" she concluded then lethargically gripped the seductress' meandering hand.
"Yes," Morrigan intoned, somewhat eager for an answer.
"Of course," Ophelia yawned carelessly in between her assurance, "Nothing will change that."
Astonished by the effortless claim, Morrigan pried quite sternly, "No witty addition to that remark?"
"No," Ophelia smirked but it didn't dilute her sincerity, kissing each of her lover's knuckles.
Morrigan could compose no retort, so they blinked and scrutinized each other with morse code while stroking their intertwined hands.
It was warm yet cool; secured yet fading; tender yet inadequate.
An infinite many things to say but cannot be said. In spite of that, there was a mutuality – a sense of what the other wanted.
Was it the ring?
Minutes flew by and the humungous room seemed darker and colder as a gust of wind from open windowed patio doors blew and fluttered the small flames of the candles – feeding the fright of the afraid.
As if awakened by the whoosh, Ophelia finally spoke, "I can't wait to see it for myself. Him or her." She gazed at a section of the witch's midsection and used her index to trace over it, momentarily unclasping Morrigan's hand. "I know that when I do, the joy of having been united with you will be everlasting in him or her." She swallowed nervously. "And I don't care how people might react once they see there's a bun in the oven. All they'll need to know is that it's completely mine." Nostalgic of her dead nephew's birth, she despondently yet confidently revealed, "I can already imagine how small his or her hands would be as a newborn," she modeled her littlest finger and proclaimed with a tear welling up in her eye, "Able to clinch barely half of this pinkie."
Morrigan gawped at her with a blank stare and immobile lips. She would've considered the possibility of taking an arrow to the heart if she was deaf and blind. And perhaps that would've been better.
The rogue could've asked questions or accused her in some notion.
Why wouldn't she say something?
The dazed diamond eyes freed itself from its trance then glued on aureate eyes. "Am I boring you?" Ophelia quipped delightedly.
Morrigan was underwhelmed. She had expected more. "No..." her reply came easy, "Not at all."
The bed squeaked as Ophelia leisurely rose up then crawled over, placing her hands adjacent to either side of the brunette's head, her legs entrapping her hips. She let their eyes lock for a brief second, as if for permission, before she dove and slithered a wet tongue on her neck, stopping where her ear and jaw met. "But this would be more exciting?" She breathed hotly then continued to admire the creaminess, clutching the nape for better leverage as she nibbled on it.
Morrigan crumpled her eyes but could not moan. The kisses traveled to her jawline and her mouth fell agape, but still could not moan.
A hand even dared to dig beneath the slender blanket and reach for her but she still could not moan.
Fingerprints were being impressed on her sensitive flesh – yet still nothing.
Ophelia paused to look at her, "Am I doing it wrong?"
Her mien lacked boldness, mettle, dominance...
Why couldn't she just be angry?
"No..." Morrigan droned as dull as emptiness.
Carnation lips dropped to a scowl. "You can tell me."
No. She refused the initiative to confess. Couldn't she force it out of her like she used to? Grab her? Slap her? Choke her?
Morrigan wanted to scream. Scream, yell, burn down the house... Then maybe they would fight and everything would be easy.
Instead, she gasped as the bed squeaked again and desperately cinched the wrist of the noble who tried to move away.
"Ophelia..." The name was the last thing she said before she pulled her into a soul-searching kiss and hurriedly allowed herself to be toppled on the bed.
Their need exponentiated.
Their clothes shed.
The candles died.
The sheets tangled their bodies.
Their salty skin glistened in the moonlight.
And when their cries and the tremors subsided, damp, remorseful lips pressed on the groove behind a sleeping ear.
"I'm so sorry..."
Come on skinny love, just last the year,
Pour a little salt, we were never here,
Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer.
I tell my love to wreck it all,
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall,
Right at the moment, this order's tall.
And I told you to be patient,
And I told you to be fine,
And I told you to be balanced,
And I told you to be kind.
And in the morning, I'll be with you,
But it will be a different kind,
'Cause I'll be holding all the tickets,
And you'll be owning all the fines.
Come on skinny love, what happened here?
Suckle on the hope in light brassiere,
Sullen load is full, so slow on the split.
And I told you to be patient,
And I told you to be fine,
And I told you to be balanced,
And I told you to be kind.
And now all your love is wasted,
Then who the hell was I?
'Cause now I'm breaking at the britches,
And at the end of all your lines.
Who will love you?
Who will fight?
Who will fall far behind?
Red orange infused with dark blue and distorted through fluffy clumps of white. Sprinkles of black were clustered at different areas of the canvas, but all of them headed in a single direction.
All but one.
Birds migrated annually to where it would be warmer for winter, there was no misconception about that.
"I did not lie."
Yet, one lone bird was no conformist to the flocks which journeyed east.
"When I swore that I would not leave..."
But a bird could be lost;
"I will be with you through the ring."
Flee from the warmth of the sun;
"For as long as you want me with you."
"Take of that, what you will."
Even when it belongs with its family which moves toward where the first light shines.
"And punish me later, if you must, should we meet."
At least, it wasn't caged;
"As for the child that forever binds us..."
Free from shackles.
So the lonesome bird carried on, knowledgable of the perils that could await in the barren and frozen;
"For this is who I am."
But appreciative of its freedom;
"Do not worry, I will take good care of the child."
And where it derived––
"Live life happily. You deserve much more than I."
––The highest porch of a castle;
"You will always be held dear in my heart and I will never forget us."
Which was occupied by one woman;
"I do not expect your forgiveness. Though, I still wish you would."
Scoping out dawn's pacifying horizon;
"Thank you for everything."
With a letter in her hand.
"I love you,"
Then in a few footsteps;
The piece of parchment laid on the floor, abandoned but not crumpled.
Come on skinny love.
"Skinny Love" by Bon Iver (Recommended: Birdy's Cover)
Feedback for Lofticries
Lord Tubbington: Nothing's wrong with it! Just that it's not for this story! XD Haha. That much is true. I react well to motivation. And thanks for the rating! 20's crazy though. Lol. And we can't be alone if we're together! DUH! xD And sure, cheat for the 200 reviews! I'll just count yours as 1. Lmao. Jk.
EmbertoInferno: Yessur/maam. Oh, thank you for the salute! I might just write something more outrageous next time! XD Jk. I'm so happy you think I wrote it confidently. I did want it to have more purpose than just to get people horny. I'm all for the sensual stuff. And what a compliment! I do spend more time thinking of how to portray Morrigan correctly. Thank you for noticing!
Dalish Elf: Oi! You're one of my veteran reviewers. xD You stuck with me since the beginning! Don't feel bad if you missed 1 review. S2 And yes, it'll include that. Somewhat.
greg26: Thank you! You must be a lurker! I'm glad to hear from you! Review again! XD
geler7: You know me! I can't settle for pure porno! I'm so thankful you didn't find it disgusting even though you hate it! Thanks! Yea... Morrigan's really getting used to using that word. At least, in private. You're very welcome. Thanks for sticking with me! Gosh, I'm such a sucker for compliments. Lol.
jstarr2209: A unicorn spell? XD Yea... I'm astonished by the number of people with dirty minds like me. Truly. And lmao! One day, I'll write a crackfic just for you! HAHA. Jk. Thanks for the rating.
LunarOphelia13: Ei. They really can suck it. Ophelia's, I mean. I got none. XD This sick mind will think of anyway to deliver once it's determined to write about it. Hehe. But yes, it was a challenge to think of how to do it, exactly. Thanks for the 'fucking 10.' D
Guest Wow: Wow! A very accurate observation. I bet you'd make quite the college thesis if you haven't already. Thanks for reading. Especially the totally intrusive and unavoidable a/n.
ARavingLooony: Trollolol. I have no idea what came over me to spare him because I'm completely illogical that way. I just wanted to see how readers would react and collect the data. Haha. Yours is outstanding! Thanks for reviewing again. S2
Thanks for the compliments, ratings, and reviews everyone! Review again please.
A/N: The end. Or... To be continued.
My first ever chaptered story finished! Thank you to all that supported! By reading, faving, following, and (my favorite) reviewing! With your kindest compliments, inputs, and even criticisms... You've motivated me enough to maybe pursue creative writing as a profession! I've done so much art but never tried writing. I've only really started last year of September and I must say... I've never grown in anything as quickly as I have here. In part, it's thanks to you guys! If no one gave me appreciation, I would've had no motivation and not gotten better like I did. It's also good to know people enjoy it. So thank you! I'd give you all a hug if I could.
Btw, I have spoken to Sarion previously about editting this whole thing together once it was done. So don't be surprised if I add some minor new content in the future.
As for the sequel... It will be a semi-direct continuation from where this leaves off. I will need to solidify my plot so I want 200 reviews for some push! I know, I'm so greedy. But I really want the lurkers to talk. XD I think it isn't hard since in the first days I post a chapter, about half of that number already visits the chapter. Say something, please? Even the oldbie reviewers that I miss. Feel free. 333
And a note... To be updated when the sequel comes, either: keep following this story and I will update it for a heads up or just follow me as an author and you'll see when it's posted. Btw, guys, if you don't know how to get alerted... It's because it goes in your mail. XD
Lastly, do you guys want a comic version of this story? Well, not really a comic... Something like my 'Paradise Circus' piece. I take the most important scenes of the story and draw it as I see fit. Take a look at my gallery if you haven't already! Thanks! archristol . deviantart . com
Sarion, geler7, Dalish Elf, Lord Tubbington, whiskered oranges, AD Lewis, Moral Attention, LunarOphelia13, and to everyone who stuck with me since the beginning! Even if you don't talk. Damn you. Talk!
Ophelia and Morrigan Artwork - archristol . deviantart . com
Rate this chapter (5 Best, 1 Worst)...
5 - Totally Entertaining
4 - Entertaining Enough (But missing a thing or two...)
3 - Good (But can be better.)
2 - Meh... (Scanned through just to move forward in the plot.)
1 - Redo Everything Bitch
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