Leliana was born just as the earth shifted beneath Beqanna.
Her first memory is curling around her sister on the Mountain and although the Chamber is where she would have been raised, it was instead under Magnus’ watchful eye in Tephra. In the aftermath, she grew up wild and free and kind. It did not matter the tragedies she experienced or the heartaches she felt because, in the end, Leliana remained steadfast in her calm, caring nature. She remained unchanged.
That is until Beqanna shifted again—until the world rended and magic flooded her veins.
This was enough to tilt her world on its axis, to leave her spinning into the abyss.
She is no longer the honey-eyed woman of her youth. She is not the healer walking amongst the masses and rooting out whatever hurts she can. Instead she is a Queen and a protector and a woman willing to wage war to serve what she calls justice. It is only now, standing next to the river and before the sweet smile of her fellow magician that she mellows at all. She does not greet the other woman she once would have—does not smile and pull her close, does not fall into the rivers of kinship—but she quiets.
“Isilya,” her tongue wraps around the name, testing the weight of it before she nods. Her own wings at her side begin to shift, independent of her magic, taking on a mirror image of the woman’s dragonfly wings. Her own are made of redwood with small clusters of moss at the edges, but they are similar enough that they could be a mirror image. “My name is Leliana,” she offers, feeling the flowers that bloom beneath.
“I have not yet met another,” a quiet pause. “At least not like us.”
Because for all the volcano rages behind her in her home and for the burning star that glows in her chest, her magic is a quiet one. It is the soft murmur of the brook and the unfurling of an opening bud.
It is a gentle, soft magic—and one day, maybe one day, Leliana will find her way back to the source of it.
@[Isilya]
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