What do you want? Zevran asked once, during a massage, when she was too relaxed to guard her answers. I don't know, she'd replied, realizing in that moment that no one had ever asked her that before. She'd gone quiet, pondering, and Zevran hadn't pressed.
I want to see what's beyond this house.
I want you to touch me, more, there.
I want to drink myself silly just because I can.
I want something that's mine.
Now, she focuses on what she has.
Isabela weighs her options as she surveys her husband's--no, her quarters. They're cramped in the way that usually makes her twitch, like her mother's tiny hovel or the dark, oppressive rooms of the house in town. But here, sunlight streams through the windows, and when she opens the door, there's nothing but the blue expanse of the sea.
The ship creaks and rolls under her feet. She closes her eyes and inhales, breathing in salt and seaweed and musty timbers.
What do you want?
Finally, she knows.