Cole

Before the door is opened, they could let the cat out and it would always be alive.

He feels naked without the name on the armor, but now he knows you want him naked.

The name breaks free, pulls the pain with it. A black wall to shield the self when the sky is rainier.

Not all Templars listen to the whispers. Some try to help. Like Cullen.

It wasn't from a flower. He rode it in the snow.

He was dead the whole time, he didn't know.

Stepping into the parlor, hem of my gown snagged, no, adjust before I go in, must look perfect.

It wasn't blood in the bath. Fingers on the scalp, intimate, and then the moment is gone.

You and Krem say words that hurt, but they aren't real, The Iron Bull.

An old name burns inside armor that shouldn't fit, lit by faces of children he couldn't save.

He tried to melt a snowflake because he liked waterfalls. Swallowing bile and pride as he sees his son defend himself.

His friend had to die. Because he thought they were people. A slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf's jaws.

Voice ringing with fullness from both worlds, guiding me to the shining places. He calls himself Pride.

Nugs are kind, Almost everything is bigger than they, but they're still happy.

The Left Hand blooms on the bush, remembering the light that shone in her darkness. She knows how to sing again.

The guardian spirits stayed. Not bound but biding. Because he asked. He knows how to speak so spirits listen.

Tied, but tenderly, loving in the letters of a word that would stop it, knots in satin scarves.

He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.

She hurts, but helping hurts more. She sees the strings that pull me, eyes like raisins in a stale cookie.

"I do hope Duke Bastien puts out the lights before he touches her. But then, she must disappear in the dark."