I promise you it's not really a new sadness.

I'm just putting stuff to bed before DAII steals too much of my attention.
ETA:
Sad story is Sad. I just quickly dashed this off for the prompt, but it goes with my livestream picture too. ;D
"Love Notes"
Sleep. Anders needed to sleep. It was almost daylight. He honestly tried, but the twitch right behind his ears nagged him incessantly now. Even the stoutest of sleep spells and droughts had stopped working once this twitch had joined the scratch at the back of his eyeballs.
He finally decided to read a book, a boring book, after staring into space proved fruitless. One of Mae's tedious Antivan history books, which possessed the unique ability to make hundreds of years of stabbing and beheading bland, should do the trick. He hooked his finger in the spinal opening at the top of a large worn tome.
The History of the Family Montivo: Beginning with the Age of Corinth I Continuing to the Time of Rovert III? That sounded dreadful. Perfect. He cracked it open and a scrap of paper floated to the floor. Scooping it up he read aloud, "Don't touch my books. You bend the pages. -M."
Maker's breath, Maeve. When she left, she tucked these little notes into everything from a set of his robes to the place he'd snuck away that lyrium dust. Those read, "These make your eyes look nice." and "
Don't. 'Cause I said so, Anders." respectively. A year later and his heart still flopped at the thought of losing her. Had she felt this bad every time he had left for weeks on end? No, he half lied to himself, of course not, because he always returned. Maeve... Anders swallowed hard. Maeve would never come back.
All that remained of her were these damn notes. Little love notes that made him ache for her. Anders squeezed his eyes shut and smiled at the thought of her, the remembered feel of her under hand as she called his name. He found himself torn between laughing and weeping like a fool. If he just thought hard enough, the wrinkles would flatten out and he would be thirty years old with time to waste and a pretty girl pressing her finger tips to his lips, pledging herself to him. The sun had peaked through his window by this point and when he opened his eyes he had to blink back the dancing sun spots.
"Well, this is all very depressing. I suppose," he muttered, "there's just one thing to do then." Anders made his way to sit behind his desk, methodically uncorking the ink, sharpening his quill, and began writing on a scrap of paper.

Puppy says, "Cheer up!"
Modifié par cave_fatuam, 21 février 2011 - 04:22 .