Fadewalk

The thing about sleeping in your own bed, is expect it to stay yours, like. No exploding mirrors and Fade-y shite in the middle of the night. Or morning. Or whatever the bloody time it turned out to be after you woke up some place wrong.

"Shitter piss lick bollocks faced bunghole!" Sera stood in the window of her garret at the Herald's Rest peeking out from behind the casement, an arrow sighted and waiting. The first flicker of demon, the first ickle bit of green glowy stuff, and right in the eye. The left eye. Right in the left eye, for balance like.

If her hands would stop bloody shaking.

The book was open on the seat and she kept glancing down at it, watching scratches and doodles and all sorts of pissy demon lying nonsense fill it in. She shouldn't even wonder that creepy Cole was scribbling in there, because demons, yeah?

But Varric? That just sounded so... Varricy. She sighed and released the tension on the string, lowered her bow. She'd been standing there an hour and hadn't seen bloody nothing at any rate.

She picked up her quill, the magic one she'd lifted from Josephine and had to hide for three days in the attic to keep out of Leliana's way, settled down to the floor, chin resting on the bottom edge of the book. "Please, please please don't suck my soul out my fingers or make me write in blood or anything else, Maker hear my bloody prayers."

She started to write.