When Orsino had found the letter, he couldn’t breathe. His throat had closed up on itself, growing tighter after every word. It felt like a hand had clamped itself around his esophagus and squeezed without mercy, the same clawed hand that had written the letter. It squeezed until his eyes watered and no more sound could escape, and his chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths. His breaths were hasty and brought no relief, void of oxygen and arid to the point it burned. He had to place a trembling hand on the wall of the hallway to try to balance himself as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him, almost overcome with the gravity of his discovery. The mage had nothing but the urge to scream out that he had been RIGHT all along.
The letter crumpled as he tightened his hand into a fist, and newfound determination took hold. His thoughts would never let him ignore this, he had to end it now. Orsino pushed himself away from the wall and tried to straighten himself out as much as he could, feeling like a rod of iron that had been struck until it gave. He searched Skyhold top to bottom it felt until he had found the writer of the letter. Oh, how he loathed the other! His face, his body, his voice and the sneer that laid within it. The Enchanter trembled with both rage and fear.
“Arrion!” Orsino had called out from across the room, pointing a finger at the elf, the remains of the letter jutting out from his hold. His face was twisted with fury. His nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed, teeth bared. Something malicious flickered in the mage’s eyes.
