Private Character Introduction: Evelea Trevelyan
Aug. 2nd, 2015 09:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
evelea_fadewalk posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fadewalkTired. Evelea was so, so tired. She'd been stumbling down the twisting hallways of her own mind, guided only by the eerie, unmoored voice of a spirit named Cole, trying to find the demon of Envy that was hollowing her out like a worm in an apple.
She could feel the gnawing, see the cracks forming in her resolve, believing entirely for just a moment that she was watching Leliana actually draw the knife across Cullen's neck. She could smell the hot metal of his blood as it turned to ash in the air, and she wanted to scream.
Had to get out. She had to get out. She had to get back to them, make sure none of this, all this wrong ever came to pass.
This hallways was familiar. The panic climbed her throat as she turned and gripped the handle of the door nearest to her, pulling on it with a hoarse sob of frustration. She slapped the flat of her marked hand against it with a rising cry and the sizzle of that rippling green scar on her hand startled her.
There was the sensation of tearing. Of falling. When she hit the ground she didn't know why she hadn't broken into a thousand bloody-edged shards. The carpet under her hands as she shifted onto her knees was plush wool, the hard stone floor beneath it solid and real. Or more real than where Envy had taken her. She swallowed back the shifting bile, pushed her hair back from her face and looked up at the throne that loomed above her.
That was the Inquisition's heraldry, but this was not Haven.
She could feel the gnawing, see the cracks forming in her resolve, believing entirely for just a moment that she was watching Leliana actually draw the knife across Cullen's neck. She could smell the hot metal of his blood as it turned to ash in the air, and she wanted to scream.
Had to get out. She had to get out. She had to get back to them, make sure none of this, all this wrong ever came to pass.
This hallways was familiar. The panic climbed her throat as she turned and gripped the handle of the door nearest to her, pulling on it with a hoarse sob of frustration. She slapped the flat of her marked hand against it with a rising cry and the sizzle of that rippling green scar on her hand startled her.
There was the sensation of tearing. Of falling. When she hit the ground she didn't know why she hadn't broken into a thousand bloody-edged shards. The carpet under her hands as she shifted onto her knees was plush wool, the hard stone floor beneath it solid and real. Or more real than where Envy had taken her. She swallowed back the shifting bile, pushed her hair back from her face and looked up at the throne that loomed above her.
That was the Inquisition's heraldry, but this was not Haven.
