[dragon age: anders]
There are cats here now; it is a pity, Hawke thinks, that Anders can no longer notice them.
Cecil looks down at Baronian blood staining his gauntlets, and knows he can never go home again.
She will go, this last time, with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face.
It is a long, long way down from the cliff to the shore; long enough to pretend that there is more around her than empty sky, and sand, and open sea.
The world stills. Mote after mote of drifting pyrefly light sparks in the dead air, momentary stars in the black sky.
He thinks this is salvation.
His world burns, and is remade anew.
Copies always have imperfections.