The Heartwood this will never end

The skies had rent the past apart from her;
why not the final strike be the passing of one from an old life?

She must ghost past gunmetal figure;
white as cold wax, and must wander about the this proposal like a silent phantasm;
a the poor pale maid in an old ballad; near to now fade away until she is nothing more than greyed bodement to the living.

Yet—
she might find the will to continue through the wolves of her Weald; the furtive, frank lover which lived;
find it, too, in the voice of this argent figure full of gall,
for she must she must she must.

Cloudthick sights remain bleary; remain aimless upon the blanchard's fine façade. Shorn lips part in a weak wisp:
"Yes,"  for she must she must she must
continue. Continue for the silly invitation, the silly hunt; an ease to the hunger she'd since forgotten ghosted with her. 

"I am Andraste."
She must continue.
It is the core of Courtfall.

She must.