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Evelea had stared at that book for hours, pouring over the entries, the banter, the quips and doodles and jibes looking for clues. Her head ached and her eyes crossed and finally she'd admitted defeat. She wasn't going to be able to discern the verisimilitude of handwriting that she'd never seen.
The ones she recognized were worse.
She didn't know when she'd started to pray. She had rarely felt the need, never wanted to turn the Maker's gaze on her. She was a mage, and well, everyone knew the Maker had more than enough opinions about that. But somewhere as she crept along empty halls and peeked into abandoned rooms she'd started to whisper tiny, ardent pleas for help.
From anyone.
When she pushed open the door off the cloister garden her eyes focused up, fixing on Andraste's face. The short huff somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "A statue certainly isn't going to fix this, but thank you for trying."
The ones she recognized were worse.
She didn't know when she'd started to pray. She had rarely felt the need, never wanted to turn the Maker's gaze on her. She was a mage, and well, everyone knew the Maker had more than enough opinions about that. But somewhere as she crept along empty halls and peeked into abandoned rooms she'd started to whisper tiny, ardent pleas for help.
From anyone.
When she pushed open the door off the cloister garden her eyes focused up, fixing on Andraste's face. The short huff somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "A statue certainly isn't going to fix this, but thank you for trying."
