Northstar Vale i wouldn’t want my child married to a jailbird (dmn.)

at the sight of her lily-white neck all bared—something bobs in astynome's throat and she has to look away. she fidgets with the fraying edge of her sleeve, tugs at her collar. smoke is all she smells like. 

andraste is almost glowing against the wizened knobbly spine of the tree. in the court of the king of limbs. like they are being watched by a huge, unblinking eye of a monster far too big to even comprehend. a pupil the size of a sky. this was the closest she would ever come to with believing in fairies.
she bites her lip, her chin juts out. the smallest chain reaction. "ananke." she says. goddess of inevitability and compulsion. goddess of car crashes, airplanes on fire screaming across the sky, goddess of looking into blinding headlights that will eat you up in one swallow.
her bony, boyish hands rest limp in her lap. "you're like a dream."