There have been many moments in Ennaris' short life that have marked before and after—where her reality tilted around her and she has had to accept a new normal with hardly a breath to adjust. There was the moment she realized her mother had left her behind in Candlekeep, and she would not be coming back—the moment she turned in her wagon seat and found she could no longer see the spires of the library behind her—the moment she woke in Thedas, everything and everyone she knew forever beyond her reach—
and now there is this, Vanya returned from the grave in front of her. She reaches dazedly up for his hand, curling hers around it. Feels the warmth and the solidity of his skin under her palm. Turns her cheek into the cup of his palm, and feels the warmth there too. Holds her breath, like he'll spook and disappear if she so much as breathes wrong.
It feels—unreal. Like she's watching this scene from outside herself. He can't be here, despite all the combined sense that tells her otherwise.
"I'm alright," she says, quiet, not taking her eyes off of Vanya, "except I think I may be so tired I've begun to hallucinate, because you're dead."
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and now there is this, Vanya returned from the grave in front of her. She reaches dazedly up for his hand, curling hers around it. Feels the warmth and the solidity of his skin under her palm. Turns her cheek into the cup of his palm, and feels the warmth there too. Holds her breath, like he'll spook and disappear if she so much as breathes wrong.
It feels—unreal. Like she's watching this scene from outside herself. He can't be here, despite all the combined sense that tells her otherwise.
"I'm alright," she says, quiet, not taking her eyes off of Vanya, "except I think I may be so tired I've begun to hallucinate, because you're dead."