There are times when blood becomes an indelible mark upon your being. It washes away, yes, but memory is far more persistent than the moment it springs from. An error in judgment could be some seven, eighteen years past, and the memory as fresh and painful as if it were an action of that day. Compassion could be a curse, Leliana sometimes thought. ‘Compassion' seemed a fine word for a feeling that makes so much of your past and your present nightmarish, when you take each action and follow the thread of it to see what you have done, through decisions you did and did not make. There was never a day when she could fully carve it away, and when just the scarcest portion remained, it could take root again. To be able to view her mistakes, her decisions, her actions with cool logic would be one thing. You were young, she could say, you did not realise the consequences, but even then logic would counter with and yet, you should have. You were a fool.

She cannot afford to be mired in her thoughts and her regrets, and yet, when there are rare quiet moments, it is exactly what occurs.

To her credit, she does not look as exhausted or wrung out as she feels, and she murmurs a quiet prayer under her breath to the Maker as she lights a fresh candle at her shrine in the Rookery, bowing to it respectfully before she turns, sharply, and sets her gaze on the new arrival in her tower.

“Kitty.” Surprised, yes. She had not seriously expected the young woman would seek her out.