Add two more women, Minerva Hawke (the angry assassin who supports mages) and Zoe Hawke (the wisecracking apostate) and we'll have a party.
Anyway, I was taking a break from my schoolwork. During my break I started the story I said I would write. Now it's time for me to get back to work for a while but I'll just leave the beginning here as a teaser.

I like to write from the love interest's point of view. I don't know why. I do that in all my DA fics. I think I'm going to name it "Particles".
I planned to flee Kirkwall after installing those bombs in the chantry but my feet brought me right back to her. It always came right back to her. She had supported my struggle until I threatened to leave her. I should have known that a woman who valued information wouldn’t blindly follow my instructions after I lied to her.
This wasn’t about love. She had made it very clear that her decision to back the mages and oppose the templars was not about me—not entirely. “You’re a good **** and I enjoy your company,” she’d said to me three years ago. “It would be such a waste if the templars hauled you off.” I think that was her way of telling me that I factored into her logic but only to a point. I knew my place. I knew it was mainly about her father and Bethany. Maybe it was also her way of telling me she loved me. Could I have expected more from a woman with the people skills of a pissed off mabari?
But as I ran away from the chantry I was compelled to find her. She did not yet know the extent to which I had gone, that not even she could bring me back from the brink this time. It was done quickly before even I could reason myself out of it.
I thought of her eyes as I rushed to the Gallows courtyard. I thought of how furious and wounded they would look when she realized what I’d done. Large dark brown eyes that nearly swallowed me the first time she stormed into my clinic six years past. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in for a lifetime. We push each other away and then pull each other back in. Pushing and pulling and it’s become a choreographed dance we do for the thrill of hurting because we’re both gluttons for pain.
Lover, I need you more than ever now.
Modifié par Retrogue, 10 mai 2011 - 09:20 .