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It was cold and dark and there were fingers reaching and voices whispering what'sthiswhat'sthiswhat'sthis and eyes he couldn't see in the dark.
He was running. He was always running, pulling free of ropes, shoving past doors, trying to get away, farther farther until they couldn't catch, couldn't put him back in the box, couldn't make him less than he knew he was, not anymore.
He was a pale ghost in the strange green light, running, bare feet slapping on the stone, eyes wide and pupils contracted so hard there was almost no way he could be seeing anything in the dim. Panting, sweating, stumbling down the covered colonnade between the guest wing and the gardens of Skyhold but only seeing a long hallway, dark, with waiting shadows in the doorways, in the windows, watching and whispering, wanting to catch.
He was running. He was always running, pulling free of ropes, shoving past doors, trying to get away, farther farther until they couldn't catch, couldn't put him back in the box, couldn't make him less than he knew he was, not anymore.
He was a pale ghost in the strange green light, running, bare feet slapping on the stone, eyes wide and pupils contracted so hard there was almost no way he could be seeing anything in the dim. Panting, sweating, stumbling down the covered colonnade between the guest wing and the gardens of Skyhold but only seeing a long hallway, dark, with waiting shadows in the doorways, in the windows, watching and whispering, wanting to catch.
