"You were no longer of this world, of course you could not." That's more to herself, because it makes sense, because it's the Fade and every rule they think they know goes out the window there, and after the talks she's had - or the most recent one when the ghosts crowded so close to Leliana she could almost hear them - she nods, a murmur of assent following without more words.
Morrigan is a mage, and her own horrors...her own horrors she can imagine so easily now, because she plans for them constantly and has to worry about them when she burned bridges she is carefully repairing now. Kieran, always always Kieran. And Flemeth. She cannot imagine what Leliana has seen, what must sit so heavily upon her shoulders now.
When she was younger she could be coy and could joke about a hundred terrible things, she could be cruel but longed for someone to be able to hold her gently in their hands even if the strangeness of it seemed absurd. If so much of her had balked at ever allowing herself to be stripped so bare and vulnerable before anyone that they might hurt her so easily. There's so little with Leliana though that isn't laid bare to the bone that there's a freedom that comes with it, that allows her to smile, to curl her fingers enough that the other woman can move away should she wish it (she would never wish to trap, to turn her hands to claws unless her whole shape is twisting, she remembers too well how it feels to be on the receiving end.)
"Leliana," she murmurs, in her low roughened voice, daring to pull her closer, wanting to tug the hood down to brush her hair behind her ear but she settles instead for a hand on her side, calming her as one calms any skittish wild thing. The irony isn't lost on her. "Come here, I am going nowhere." I will not flee, she means. And I have lived this long through a world with as many shadows and ugly biting things nipping at my heels.
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Morrigan is a mage, and her own horrors...her own horrors she can imagine so easily now, because she plans for them constantly and has to worry about them when she burned bridges she is carefully repairing now. Kieran, always always Kieran. And Flemeth. She cannot imagine what Leliana has seen, what must sit so heavily upon her shoulders now.
When she was younger she could be coy and could joke about a hundred terrible things, she could be cruel but longed for someone to be able to hold her gently in their hands even if the strangeness of it seemed absurd. If so much of her had balked at ever allowing herself to be stripped so bare and vulnerable before anyone that they might hurt her so easily. There's so little with Leliana though that isn't laid bare to the bone that there's a freedom that comes with it, that allows her to smile, to curl her fingers enough that the other woman can move away should she wish it (she would never wish to trap, to turn her hands to claws unless her whole shape is twisting, she remembers too well how it feels to be on the receiving end.)
"Leliana," she murmurs, in her low roughened voice, daring to pull her closer, wanting to tug the hood down to brush her hair behind her ear but she settles instead for a hand on her side, calming her as one calms any skittish wild thing. The irony isn't lost on her. "Come here, I am going nowhere." I will not flee, she means. And I have lived this long through a world with as many shadows and ugly biting things nipping at my heels.