Cole is actually the MOST interesting character in all DA universe. I’m not just saying that bc he’s my fav; it’s simply a fact (just like his powerful abilities). Take a proper interest in him & don’t get stuck on the ‘childish’ image you have of him pls. (I could write a lot abt him, but i’m holding back lol)
I lit a candle for you tonight. Not because I feared for you… no, you’re far too clever to be in danger without knowing how to get out of it but because it brings me peace. A soft ritual, a small flame in the dark, as I once was. Before you. Before Her light. Before us.
The room is still. The only sound is the rustling of the wind through the window and the slow, patient rhythm of your cat’s purring beside me. (She’s claimed my lap again, by the way. I suspect she believes I am her companion, not yours.)
It’s strange how full the quiet feels now. I used to find silence suffocating, heavy with unanswered prayers and things I dared not feel. But with you, the silence breathes. It sings. And I listen.
I often think of the road behind us. Of blood spilled on stone, of gods whispering from shadows. Of the choices that broke us, and the ones that stitched us back together. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I still feel the weight of the spear in my hands, the sharp ache of who I was. The daughter of Shar.
But you saw through that darkness. You didn’t flinch. You stayed. Even when I was all thorns and teeth, you reached for me with gentle hands and wiser eyes. And when I looked at you… truly looked, I saw something I didn’t believe in yet: hope.
You didn’t save me. Let me say that plainly. I saved myself. But you showed me the light was worth walking toward. You waited for me at the edge, patient as the moon. And now… here we are. Whole, even with the cracks. Perhaps because of them.
You, with your endless mind and your impossible magic. You, who bend reality with a flick of the wrist, and yet blush when I kiss your temple. My brilliant mage. My impossible star.
I love you. In the quiet and in the storm. In the temple and in the tavern. In the warmth of Sélûne’s light, and even in the shadows we no longer fear.
Come to bed soon. I miss the weight of your head on my shoulder. And I want to tell you again, not just with words but with every touch, every breath, every quiet moment between us: You are my peace. And I am yours.
I tried to write something simple tonight. Just a note. A few lines to say: “I love you. I miss you… even when you're only a room away.” But you know me, brevity was never my strongest spell.
The truth is, every word I try to shape around you feels inadequate. How does one describe the constellations to someone who is the night sky? How does one speak of magic to the one who breathes it as naturally as air?
You are wonder, distilled. Flame-born, starlit, wrapped in silk and shadow. You, who speak to the Weave like it’s an old lover, and who make even silence feel sacred. Do you know what you are to me?
You are home.
I remember the first time I watched you cast, not just with your hands but with your whole being. Every gesture is a poem, every word a promise. You weren’t merely commanding power, you were power. And yet, when you turned to me and smiled… all I could think was how gently your fire could burn. How easily you could unravel me, if you so chose.
And you did… gods, you did. And I thank the stars every night for it.
Life is quieter now. The world isn’t ending. No ancient gods rise from their prisons. No artefact demands sacrifice. There are no battle cries echoing from our heels. And yet, even in this stillness, my heart races because I wake beside you. Because you’re here.
Do you remember that dream I once told you, of becoming divine? I used to believe that was the only way to leave a mark upon the world. That without glory, I would vanish, forgotten. But you, my love… you showed me there is a different kind of eternity. One woven not from power, but from presence. From the soft brush of fingers in the dark, from the quiet laughter over morning tea, from the way your horns fit perfectly against my shoulder when you fall asleep reading in my arms.
You made me immortal, not in legend but in love.
So tonight, I offer no great revelations. Only this: I love you. More deeply than magic, more fiercely than fire, and more endlessly than time.
Come find me, when your book grows heavy and your eyes begin to wander from the page. I’ll be waiting, heart in hand and a little spell ready to light the room, just in case you steal my breath again.
You're still asleep. One hand resting on my chest like an anchor, as if to make sure I don’t vanish with the morning. Sweet. Unnecessary but sweet.
There are nights like this when I can’t quite fall back to sleep. Even with you curled against me, even after tasting your skin and your calm. The mind, you see, has a tendency to linger in ruins. And I… well, I suppose I still am one, from time to time.
I think about everything we lived through. The blood, the filth, the haunted eyes staring out from smoke and fire. The feel of metal sliding between ribs. The promises whispered under duress. That moment when I truly believed the only way to survive was to become something even worse than the monster who made me.
And yet… here I am. Still breathing. Free. Writing a love letter like some misplaced romantic. The irony isn’t lost on me. You changed everything.
No ascension. No throne of blood. No cult worshipping at my feet. Just a crooked little house that creaks every time some fishmonger yells in the street. And you, my beautiful abomination, the only one I love more than I ever thought myself capable of. It’s not what I planned. It’s better.
But some nights, the ache still comes.
Not for the pain… no, that’s far too familiar. What I miss is what we were then. On the road. Half-feral, starved for life, dancing on the knife’s edge. Every day a gamble, every victory stolen from the jaws of something worse. There was a raw honesty to it. We were alive in a way this city could never replicate.
And I wonder… do you feel it too? That strange grief? That quiet mourning for the adventure we left behind?
I love you. I don’t say it enough. Or maybe I say it too often. Either way, it’s not a promise, or a confession. It’s a truth. One that endures, even when the city drowns us in routine, even when I slip back into old habits, a cynic in silk with too many ghosts and too little sleep.
But I lie beside you every day. And that, my love, is a victory no one can ever take from me.
theartofmadeline
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