this is all of me for all the world to see; leliana

[leliana]

I know what it is but I'm hoping that all is well
no harvest of green but it's still my heart to sell

Her breaths became shallow and heady, her body light from lack of oxygen, her veins expanding into her body so that she felt weightless. Thick lashes fluttered down to cover her eyes, her body melting into his hands. She was candle wax, and she was dripping down over the edges, her body turning pliant and soft against his hard edges, melding around him—softening the knives of his body, cushioning the blow. They were such opposites, fire and water, and yet, here they were, somehow colliding in the middle together.

She felt his gasp more than heard it, and the feeling of power was intoxicating—that sense that she was able to affect him as much as he affected she. Her head tipped back at the sound, and she drank it in, felt the sensation of it flood through her, tear through her belly, carve out canyons in her chest. At his words, she just shook her head, the crimson of her mane flying around to frame her face. “I don’t care,” her voice foggy, her eyes blurry with emotion. Her lips found the edges of his face again, and they remained there, tracing the whorls of his hair, studying the unique way the lines formed. “I don’t care, Dovev.”

She would touch him; she needed to touch him.

She had to.

Protests raised in the back of her mind, feeble attempts to remind herself that this was bad, that this was a terrible decision, but they all died as quickly as they lived. She couldn’t think outside of him, outside of the heat, the scorching pain rumbling beneath the surface that drew her further and further down. When he gripped her neck and pulled her toward him, she pressed hard into his chest and gasped as her power billowed outward, her wounds sealing completely and the tangles of it sweeping through Dovev.

“Say it,” she murmured it into his chest, her neck arched so that her mouth could rest against him, so that she could feel the unsteady pounding of his heart. “Tell me,” another demand pressed firmly into him, the words soft and hopeful. “Tell me you care about me.” She didn’t dare ask for him to say that he loved her but this—this she needed to hear. She needed to hear the lie. She needed to hear that he truly did care about her; that she wasn’t just some fancy, that she wasn’t just some foolish piece of entertainment.

I put everything I had into something that didn't grow
like going on a wild hunt, shooting arrows without a bow