Inan'abelas // DAI; Solas

Penumbra

"something is changing.

and it might be the seasons.

and it might be me."

-Alison Malee

~~◇~~

Ashinne did not know what would kill her first: the draft of frozen air rushing down the corridor every passing minute, the painful pangs of hunger in her stomach, or the executioner himself. It was like living through Hell. Her skin was as cold as ice, her nose and cheeks red with chill. She missed the time spent traveling from the Graves to Skyhold, where she had the comfort of a nearby fire and her horse. Here, in the dungeon, there was no fire. There was only the sorrow of being forgotten-- of being lonely.

It brought her genuine excitement to hear the clanking of shoe buckles coming down the hallway. Never would she have thought she would readily anticipate being taken away, especially when just a few days ago, she dreaded being taken to trial. Now, the switches have flipped. Ashinne wished for nothing more than to be reprieved from this damned cell and from the hands of the Inquisition whether it meant her head would roll or not.

She didn't hear the voice speaking to her. She didn't feel his cold gloves upon the chilled flesh of her arm, nor did she feel the metal shackles being clasped around her wrists. She didn't register that she was taking steps. The cement beneath her bare feet was so cold that it felt warm. Every step she took toward her own death sent spikes of fiery energy up her legs, through her body, swallowing the entirety of her head. It was as if someone had wrapped a thick, weighted blanket around her, drawing her closer to sleep. It brought her comfort.

There were no gazes of putrid humiliation burning through her skull this time walking through Skyhold. Instead, they saw her for her words during the trial, the lifelessness of her pale skin, the redness in her ears, cheeks, and nose, and her skinny figure. They saw her elven ears and gasped in pity. They believed it was their beloved Inquisitor who had sent this poor elf to the executioner's block-- their beloved Inquisitor Trevelyan, she who shows mercy toward all elves for a reason known only to her and her dear commander.

Even the nobles failed to turn their gazes away. But whether it was because a lowly elf to stare upon was walking past or because they felt sympathy for her, Ashinne did not know. Every pair of eyes looked the same.

There were so many faces, a majority of which she knew were human. She did not need to see the point of an ear to know. Her people were distinguishable, such as the one standing in the far back. He bore pointed ears, a lean stature, and the wide and deep set eyes of ancient elves. She had not seen him in his robes for such a long time that she had almost forgotten how much she liked the color of them.

Ashinne could not tear her eyes away from him. She noted the beautiful grain of light-colored wood adorning the weapon in his hands, the jewel sitting atop matching the raging tundra storm within his eyes.

The sound of heavy steps suddenly fills her ears, and she does her best to hang her head low. She does not want to meet the eyes of her defiler.

"We have gathered here today to witness the downfall of a traitor!" Leliana proclaimed, her voice loud and clear. "In her tongue, she is known as a harellan-- a traitor to one's kin."

Ashinne flinched, visions of bright orange flames dancing behind her eyes. She kept her gaze down, best focusing it on a lone pebble amongst the flat stone beneath her knees. Her lids grew heavy with tears, the smell of blood, ashes, and steel lingering underneath her nostrils. If only her hands were free... there was no telling what she would do to the woman beside her. She would likely die, given the Spymaster's skill compared to her own.