Vhenan Trash

Bittersweetxoxo meerlyThe world could very well end tomorrow, but in case it doesn’t, there are letters to send, dignitaries to please, parties to plan, and so Josephine, always writing, writes. Leliana told her once at the start of all this, laughing, that slaving behind a desk day in and day out would grey her fine black hair long before its time. But tonight, caught in the final raw-lunged breath before a storm, neither of them is laughing. Firelight glitters across the surface of Leliana’s glass, illuminating the dark wine within, wound-red and half-drunk, casting its tinted shadows like phantom accusations across her hands, hands too far steady for what they’ve wrought. She remembers nights spent laughing over sweeter drinks, ones that burst on the tongue like a first kiss long expected. They’d pinned pilfered smallclothes to a chantry board and whispered secrets to keep and be kept, this last something she knows she will never do again except in memory. The taste of happier times remembered is bittersweet and so are her present fears, devouring her, always devouring when she isn’t frozen inside.And so she drinks deep, drowning the part of her that trembles, crushing the terrible thought this last beloved face in a world of shaken faith and silent gods might soon disappear. That would be another failure, another loss, one Leliana cannot and will not allow.“Cheers, Josie.”