[open] you'll come back when it's over

[eolasemah]

WHO friends and family of Sina Dahlasanor
WHAT: post-mortem interactions
WHEN: the evening of 7 Haring and onward
WHERE: the infirmary and elsewhere
NOTES: CW for death and illness. Apart from the main post I will not be tagging in. This thread is for wake/funeral/burial arrangements and anything else you guys want to play out pertaining to Sina's death, so feel free to make top levels or do whatever else!

It was the evening of the sixth when Galadriel paid her visit to Sina, after which the girl became mostly unresponsive. Still breathing, she slept through the night and day, waking up in the late afternoon just long enough to reach for Nari's hand and whisper something to her before falling away again. The candles grew dim and the shadows long before she stirred again, pulling in a last rasping breath, her lips moving soundlessly to form two unknown words as she exhaled and fell still.

It was hardly ten minutes later when, witnessed by friends and clan, the glowing green patch of magic that had plagued them all for the last couple years simply... vanished from the elf's sternum, as though it had never been there. Lying small and wasted away, destroyed from the inside out, anyone who looked at Sina for the first time would not understand what had killed her.

The room was then vacated by all but Keeper Thalia and Sina's parents, a balding large-eyed man with a quivering chin and a plain, sandy-haired woman, neither appearing all that much more vital than their late daughter. It was they who prepared the body for the resulting rites, silent and weary, their miracle baby laid to an untimely rest.

Out in the hall, Nari found herself surrounded in a collective embrace by a sea of russet-haired Dalish, her family. Even in a time like this, being with their daughter and sister brought comfort, and they hoped she might find some as well.
Sedi and Nymii stood as sentries on either side of the door, permitting only mourners and scowling down otherwise unrelated onlookers.

At last, at long last, it was over.

Comments

ii

[mythalenaste]

Cool fingertips touch his back, a warning that she's about to put an arm around him. Today just won't end. It's overwhelming and exhausting, but they have to muddle through.

"Lethallin. Someone brought food. Come eat."

[writteninblood]

She'd caught him staring, not that that was a hard target to hit. The fine-grain of the wood plank of the nearby windowsill, that was what had consumed him, the way it bent around a knot, whorling gracefully right-handed around, first one direction and then back. It was soothingly mindless to try and pick out a trail that went from one side to another, to fail at that too, and start again. It was too hard to do anything else; this was enough, for now, to sit in the numbness and forget himself for a little while.

He jumped at the touch of her fingers, looking to Pel with first alarm and then recognition. Then he relaxed.

"Oh," What had she said? He'd forgotten already, not paying attention, "Are you alright? You... Had..."

He's not sure how he means to end that observation, loses track of the thread before its gotten to its end. But it's easier to worry about someone else than to address the rest, right now.

[mythalenaste]

"Shush," Pel answers softly. "I'm fine. Come eat."

Without waiting for an answer, she takes him by the upper arm and gently guides him toward a table with a pan of meat and a loaf of bread.

[writteninblood]

Sorrel is well-used to being bossed around by the women in his life, he's just forgotten what it was like to have it from Pel. Still, he goes, too overwhelmed to be unwilling, and allows himself to be chivvied into a portion of food. It's good food, hearty, simple food, unseasoned by anything more than the hunger of the moment and the needs of the group.

It reminds him of home. So naturally, he just looks at it instead of digging in.

"I'm sorry," He says, as if apologizing to his plate, "I don't know what I'm doing. I keep..."

He gestures vaguely, one-handed, then picks up his bread just to have something to do with it. It's warm and doughy and looks like it was baked in a pan, clearly made by one of the visiting dahlasanor rather than purchased from the more professional bakeries down in Kirkwall. Sorrel breaks off a piece, but doesn't eat.

"...I keep wandering off. I'm supposed to be doing something."