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“You are far bolder than I last recall, Spymaster.” She says to her captor—the elusive and dangerous Nightingale that she knew as Leliana.
The Witch of the Wilds did not expect her reunion with her former wartime ally to unfold in this manner. Pinned against the wall of the rookery, a gloved hand around her neck, glacial pools of azure gazing into her own with unveiled desire. Morrigan had always suspected Leliana’s intentions towards her. The lingering looks, the eloquent compliments towards her beauty, and the bitterness to which she expressed when learning of her departure many years ago. Such a thing was a passing fancy, Morrigan had convinced herself. The infatuation of a little girl mesmerized by fire, but not aware of the dangers of getting too close to it.
Her words derived a sultry smirk as their reward, coupled by a decrease of distance between their bodies. “Let’s just say, I’ve learned not to dance around the bush,” Leliana cooed, the mischievousness in her Orlesian both amorous and intense. “And instead, go directly for it.”
Morrigan could not deny a rush of warmth and anticipation from within. A devilish smile of her own touched her dark lips. Perhaps her stay at Skyhold would not be so dull after all.