Private Tales Trapped Inside One's Mind

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Katja’s body trembled, her breath coming in ragged gasps as the world around her spun, the pain still clinging to her every nerve, but it felt distant now. As if it was happening to someone else. She tried to move, to speak, but her limbs felt heavy, like they had been drained of every ounce of energy.

Alistair’s voice cut through the haze, but it felt muffled, as though it came from far away. His words registered just enough to bring a fleeting smile to her lips—barely a flicker before the overwhelming darkness settled in again.

Katja’s eyes fluttered closed, the light slipping from them once more as unconsciousness swept her away, her body succumbing to the need for rest, for healing, both physical and otherwise, and the darkness welcomed her.
 
A moment of fear shot over Alistair as he made sure that Katja was unconscious and not dead. Once he confirmed that she was still among the land of the living, he groaned and pushed himself to his feet.

What followed was a blur in Alistair's own memory as he moved by pure force of will. He made sure the estate was locked up so no one came wandering in. Then he roamed the rooms until he found a blanket and pillow for Katja to rest.

As he knelt down to make her comfortable, his mind raced with other things he should probably do before he was able to rest.

Of course, those were his last thoughts, as the next thing he knew Al was waking up bleary eyed next to Katja.

How long had he been asleep?

Katja
 
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Katja's breath stirred in the quiet stillness of the room as the soft light of morning filtered through the broken windows, casting pale, golden beams across the cold stone floor. The flakes of snow drifted gently in, swirling lazily in the air. It was peaceful, the kind of moment that felt almost surreal given everything that had transpired.

She blinked slowly, her eyes heavy from the deep sleep that had overtaken her, the weight of exhaustion pulling her back to the present. The blanket over her felt like a small, but welcome comfort against the biting chill, and she drew it closer, pulling it tighter around herself.

Katja glanced at Alistair, her gaze softening as she took in the sight of him. He was still lying there, his condition not much better than hers. And yet he’d spent whatever power he’d had left on her.

She cleared her throat as he woke, the sound raspy but enough to pull her from the lingering haze of sleep. It took a moment for her to gather her thoughts, but when she spoke, her voice was quieter than usual—almost cautious, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation. “I didn’t know you could do that... but thank you.” Her gaze dropped, a faint flush creeping up her neck, before she gave him a half-smile. “And I don’t hate you.”

Her chest tightening slightly as she realised, for the first time, how much he had risked for her.
 
Alistair shot up to a sitting position, and his body quickly reminded him why that was a horrible idea. Every bone, muscle, and crevis ached all over his body and it felt like any moment he was just going to crumble away. A groan escaped his lips before he registered that Katja was up and talking.

The young man smiled as he looked around the room again to make sure nothing was amiss before he admitted.

"Neither did I, but...I'm glad it worked out."

Another deep groan came from Alistair as he forced himself to fight through the pain and push himself to his feet. As soon as he was upright, a moment of vertigo hit him and his legs felt like they were jelly. He steadied himself before smiling again.

"I know...I'm pretty cool."

Katja
 
Katja held the blanket tightly against her chest, though it offered little comfort as her mind slowly pieced together the aftermath of what had happened. She winced at the aches and pains as she sat herself up, her body felt like it had been run over by a herd of wild beasts. The smell of her own blood clung to her, and she could feel the dried remnants of it all over her skin. It was overwhelming, the weight of it both physical and emotional.

"Yes... so you've said," she replied dryly, her voice strained as she sat up, wincing at the strain in her muscles. Her eyes swept around the hall, drawn to the empty space where Evander had stood and the stone that still sat there, brimming with power. Her head shook slowly, the reality of it all crashing down, and a tremble left her lips—a deep, raw breath as she tried to push through it.

"I should get cleaned up…" she murmured, her voice far weaker than she wanted it to be. Her head spun as she tried to rise to her feet, her body screaming in protest, but she forced herself to stand anyway. The dizziness threatened to pull her back to the ground, but she fought it, keeping herself steady.

Katja’s gaze softened for a moment as she glanced back at Alistair, her tired eyes taking in the damage he'd taken. She managed a half-smile, the action feeling foreign after everything that had happened.

"You're welcome to the guest wing. There's a bathing chamber... I can find you some clothes and something to eat, and bring you some salves and dressings for your wounds.." Her voice trailed off, and she frowned, pressing a hand to her forehead as the pain from the effort of standing surged through her head, making everything feel heavy and distant.

"You should rest up, before you get on your way.. Take his horse. Take whatever you want." she swallowed. It wasn't like Evander had much use of any of it anymore.
 
"Thanks, I should really..."

His mind raced with all the things he should being doing, like taking inventory of everything in the estate that he would be taking with him, but the words died on his lips. She was right, he desperately needed a shower and then maybe some food.

None of this stuff was going anywhere, he could do all the packing up later. Alistair's eyes turned to the stone that still sat on the floor, the one that had been Evander's final undoing. It was poetic in a way. Such a powerful magical artifact would certainly be going with him. He imagined himself gitty with the various studies he would perform on the object.

Pulling his mind away from work, he turned to Katja and took in her appearance. Although his magic had saved her, she looked like shit. While he would not go telling her that, it was clear that she needed the rest just as much as him.

"And you, what is next for you?

Katja
 
Katja shrugged, though the motion was sluggish, her body still protesting every small movement. Despite it, she offered a tired smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I go back to Neus and find my family, and hope they remember me."

The words felt strange on her tongue—hopeful, yet uncertain. Her smile faltered, her fingers tightening around the blanket as she glanced away, her frown deepening. Evander had erased her from their memories, ripped her existence from their lives. "I can only hope that his spells died with him. If not, then I guess I'm on my own." she sighed.

Her throat felt tight at the thought, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. For years, she had dreamt of this moment, of walking through the streets of Neus and finding the home she had lost. But now, standing on the edge of that possibility, the fear of what she might find—or not find—gnawed at her.

She forced herself to meet Alistair’s gaze again, pushing aside the doubt that threatened to swallow her whole. "At least I'm rich now, I suppose." Her lips curved, a weak attempt at humour, though it barely masked the anxiety curling in her gut.
 
Alistair did not need to be a mindreader or even socially aware, which he wasn't, to understand that Katja was scared right now. Who wouldn't be? She had just killed the ever-present shadow suppressing her only to find out she may still be left with nothing in the end.

"Well, I can at least tell you that the being rich bit is pretty fun." He tried to offer helpfully, but even his smile wasn't as confident as it was in the battle. Damn it, it was always so much easier smiling when a blade was aimed at his heart.

Alistair hesitated for a moment before continuing, awkwardly scratching at the back of his head.

"Listen, I know this isn't the greatest of offers and we only just met, but...if you go to Neus and things don't work out then...Come to Vel Anir, there is an island city off the coast called Dostan. My family and I live there. I can find you a good home, and it isn't much but you would know someone there...me."

That probably wasn't the most amazing offer for someone who had the rug that was their life pulled out from under them, but it was all he could think to do. And, if she did not like Dostan then maybe he could get her a townhouse or something in Vel Anir or one of the other cities.

Katja
 
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Katja blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by the offer. Out of everything she had expected him to say, that hadn't been close. She had braced herself for more of his usual smugness, another joke to brush past the weight of the conversation, but instead, there was... this. A genuine offer.

She wasn’t sure what surprised her more—the fact that he had extended it, or the fact that, for a brief moment, she actually considered it.

Her fingers tightened slightly in the blanket, her gaze dropping to the floor as she chewed over his words. It was an out, a safety net if Neus turned out to be nothing but ghosts and strangers. For years, she had only thought about surviving long enough to reclaim what had been taken from her—but she had never planned beyond that. If there was nothing left for her in Neus, then what? She would be untethered, lost in a world that had already moved on without her.

Slowly, she lifted her head again, meeting his gaze with something softer, something almost vulnerable. "You’d do that?" she asked, her voice quieter now, not with uncertainty, but with the weight of someone unaccustomed to being offered kindness without strings attached.

For so long, every decision she made had been dictated by someone else's will. Even now, the idea of choosing something for herself felt foreign. But here he was, giving her an option. A choice.

She exhaled a slow, tired breath, her lips pressing into something that wasn’t quite a smile but held some semblance of warmth. "I don’t know what I’ll find in Neus," she admitted, "but... if it comes to that, then maybe I will." A pause, then a quiet, almost teasing lilt. "You better not be a terrible host."

It was an attempt at lightness, but beneath it lay something real. An acknowledgment. A thank you that she wasn’t quite ready to say aloud yet.
 
"Oh, I am, but I am told I'm getting better." He teased with a smirk.

Alistair wasn't great with negative emotions or really intense emotions, so this was the easier way to handle this. Katja might have seen this as Alistair helping her to some great degree, but...why shouldn't he help her when he had the power to? It was literally just a small home he was offering, which was a drop in the bucket when it came to money. He was also offering his friendship which he did not even value that highly.

It all literally seemed like the least he could do.

With that said the soreness of his bones seemed to ache even more and Al desperately needed a bath, so he began to walk off in the direction Katja had pointed. A nice scrub and some clean clothes would be just what he needed for the next steps in his plan.

Katja was right, she was rich now, but so was Alistair...soon to be rich in knowledge!

Katja
 
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Katja couldn’t help but huff a quiet laugh at his response, the lightness in his voice a welcome contrast to the heaviness that had settled in her chest. It was a fleeting moment of normalcy, and she found herself grateful for it.

She tilted her head, giving him a small, amused smile. "Well, I hope I never need to take you up on that offer, but..." she shrugged with a short, grateful nod. Her voice was softer now, her usual sharpness replaced with something almost affectionate, as if she were testing the boundaries of this new, unexpected dynamic.

She watched as he turned to leave, the exhaustion evident in the way he moved. Katja let her gaze linger on him for a moment before she spoke again, quieter this time. "Thank you, Alistair."

It was simple, but she meant it.

Katja made her way to her chambers. The soreness in her body ached with every movement—bruises, cuts, and the fresh scar on her chest making itself known as she undressed with slow, careful motions. The warm water of the bath felt like a brief reprieve, soothing her raw, exhausted muscles, but it couldn't erase the heaviness in her heart. Every touch of the water seemed to bring more clarity, as though she were washing away far more than just the dirt and blood.

Once she was clean, she dressed in comfortable leggings and a loose white shirt, the fabric soft against her skin. She paused in front of the mirror, eyes meeting her reflection. There was nothing to see but the aftermath—the fading bruises, the pale skin, and the weight of survival.

With a shake of her head, she left the room behind, and wandered through the halls, trying to ignore the oppressive silence that had fallen over the manner in the wake of it's master's death. As promised, she found some fresh clothes, a small healing kit, and prepared a simple meal.

When she reached Alistair's door, tray in hand, she hesitated for a moment, clearing her throat, then knocked gently.
 
The bath in that moment might have been one of the most heavenly sensations that Alistair had ever experienced. As he sunk deep into the warm waters he could feel his muscles relax, even the burning sensation from several of his open cuts on the water brought with it a certain relief. At this moment, Alistair closed his eyes, allowed his runes to begin the slow process of knitting himself back together, and allowed his brain to go blank for just a few short moments.

When Katja knocked she was greeted with a now smiling Alistair with only a towel wrapped around his waist. It had taken a great deal of effort to force himself out of the bath, but when he did he found that his clothes were falling apart at just the touch. The only thing remaining intact was his weapons belt.

The fresh cuts from mere hours before were already closing as large purple, yellow, and black bruises took their place. Even with such painful-looking wounds, the previous exhaustion on Alistair's face had been replaced with joy.

"Ah Katja, thank you for the clothes. I understand that skirts are in fashion for men in some parts of the world, but I do not believe they are for me." He said jokingly.

His runic eyes were glowing as he also wanted to take a close look at Katja and see if she was injured and needed help. He didn't know exactly what that help would be, but he saved her life once so he could figure something else out.

Katja
 
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At the sight of Alistair standing there in nothing but a towel, Katja felt a warmth creep up her neck, blooming across her cheeks, and there was not a thing she could do to hide it.

“Oh—” The sound left her lips before she could stop it, and she quickly cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus. Her brow furrowed as he made some joke about skirts, and she blinked in mild confusion before realising he was referring to the clothes she had brought. Apparently, she wasn’t quite used to half-naked men or humour.

“N-no, they were Evander’s," she corrected hastily, glancing down at the folded garments draped over her arm. "They should fit."

Her gaze flickered downward for a brief second, unintentionally tracing over the bruised and battered lines of his torso. Even covered in angry splotches of every colour, his wounds were already healing, the edges closing as if he had never been torn apart to begin with. She blinked, realisation settling in as she took in the sight of injuries that should have kept him bedridden for days.

"I suppose you have little need of a needle..." she murmured, almost to herself, before glancing at the tray in her hands. "I, um... brought you more tonic. For pain, if—” She stopped herself with a frustrated shake of her head, as if realising how useless the offer was now that she saw him healing on his own. With a slight huff, she simply thrust the tray toward him. "Here."

Her posture was tense, her hands firm on the tray as if she was trying very hard to focus on anything other than the fact that he was standing there, soaked and shirtless, looking far too amused.
 
Alistair was not able to take the tray Katja trusted at him in frustration, as he was already taking the clothes over to the bed and getting dressed in whatever fit best. His face was a mix of winces and groans as he tried not to shift too much.

" I don't need the needle, but any tonics will always be greatly appreciated. The runes do a good enough job of closing things up, but they don't do much for the actual pain. I feel like I'm on fire with all the burning across my body right now."

His words described much pain, but his face remained relatively calm. After all, this pain was the foundation for what the Dreadlords had trained him for. Some of the first runes ever engraved on his skin were meant to reinforce the body and heal him. Then the Proctors broke him down and watched him build himself back up. This was what he was made for.

"What about you? I enjoyed my bath, but how are you feeling? I imagine you are still exhausted too."

While he had faced the brunt of the physical damage, Alistair was more aware than most of the damage that could come from a strain on one's magic and Katja had used a lot of it at the end there to save his life.

Katja
 
Katja let out a quiet sigh as Alistair wandered off to dress, her fingers tightening slightly around the edges of the tray as she followed him in. She averted her eyes, keeping her back to him as she set the tray down on the dresser by the window, focusing intently on arranging things just so.

Once she was sure he had at least put on some breeches, she peeked over her shoulder, her gaze briefly catching on the markings that adorned his skin. Her curiosity lingered for a moment, tracing the intricate lines of the runes before she quickly forced herself to look away, her mind still heavy with exhaustion.

"Tired. Sore… but healing, thanks to you," she answered, her hand absently pressing against her chest. The scar beneath her palm felt foreign, wrong—too fresh, too deep—not just on her skin, but in her mind. The memory of glass lodged between her ribs, of warmth spilling from her body, of that moment when everything had gone still… It made her stomach churn.

She shuddered, dragging a hand down her face as if she could wipe away the lingering weight of it all. "I have quite a journey ahead, so I'll rest for a few days before I leave…" she said, clearing her throat. The words felt strange, as if speaking them aloud made the next step more real.

Turning toward him, she approached with a small vial in her hand, the liquid inside swirling faintly in the dim light. "Here," she offered, holding it out for him to take.

Her gaze met his, steady but questioning. "Will you rest a while, before you leave?" There was no demand in her voice, just quiet curiosity—maybe even concern. It had been a long battle, a long night, and he'd taken a day's worth of beating before it. The weight of survival still clung to them both.
 
"I...I think I'm going to take a bit more time to rest here. They will understand why I'm a little late if I bring back everything I plan on bringing back. It will also allow me to inspect this place more thoroughly."

Now fully dressed Alistair looked far more the part of his noble upbringing, although Evander's style had been a bit too on the nose for an evil wizard for Alistair's taste.

"How do I look?"

He joked as he walked over to take the tonic gratefully only to turn and she was standing right there before him.

"Oh, yes, thank you."

There was another unspoken reason why Alistair wasn't leaving just yet. He was still a little worried about leaving Katja alone. In the short time he knew her, Katja was a whisp of a girl and she had just gone and killed her lifetime master. He wanted to make sure she was ok mentally and physically before just leaving her on her own.

Katja
 
Katja hadn’t expected to feel relief at his answer, but the weight that lifted from her chest was undeniable. She had spent years resenting Evander, aching for the day she would finally be free—and yet now that the moment had come, the sheer emptiness of it all was almost suffocating. She had never been on her own before, not truly. The thought of being here, in this hollow manor, without even a shadow lurking in the halls, was more daunting than the journey ahead of her.

She swallowed, forcing herself to keep her expression neutral. "As long as you need," she replied smoothly, trying to mask the quiet relief in her voice.

She startled slightly as he turned toward her, instinctively taking a small step back as she pressed the tincture into his hand.

'How do I look?'

For a moment, she just stared at him, caught entirely off guard by the question. He looked… well, alive, which was already an improvement from the bloodied mess he had been earlier. But more than that, dressed properly, he looked different. Less like the reckless, battle-worn warrior who had fought at her side, and more like the noble he claimed to be.

Katja’s lips parted slightly, but no immediate answer came to her, so she fell back on honesty, the words slipping out before she could overthink them. "Better than when I found you half-dead in the dungeon."

A flicker of amusement touched her features as she tilted her head slightly.

She dropped her gaze, turning away as she made her way to a plush armchair, sinking into its embrace with a quiet sigh. She reached for the tray she had brought, plucking a grape and popping it into her mouth.

Her tone was cautious when she finally spoke, her curiosity tempered by something more hesitant, more careful. "How did you get them?.. Your runes.."
 
Al stared blankly at her for several seconds as she relayed her opinion of his appearance before bursting into laughter and falling back to sit on the bed. His fingers combed back through his hair to straighten it as much as possible before sighing in delight.

He uncorked the tonic giving it a faint sniff, wondering exactly what the brew was before taking a quick swig of the drink. If it was poisonous then his rooms would stop it long enough for him to come up with another plan.

Katja had taken her own seat in one of the free chairs and her question made him pause for a moment. He didn't tell many people about the runes, but that was also because not many bothered asking. In Vel Anir, he was just another of countless weird Dreadlords with tragic backstories.

In a quick decision, he unbuttoned his shirt after only just having got it on before pulling it off and turning at the waist to show off his back. While the tapestry that was his back held numerous runes, Alistair traced a finger down his spine and Katja may be able to notice a large base rune that seemed to connect all the others.

"Well, my father was...driven to say the least. He carved this rune rather crudely into my body when I was maybe three or four. It connected to my life force and drew out whatever semblance of magical energy I had..."

This was a complicated part of his history that he still wasn't entirely sure how to react to. By any normal standards, his father had ruined his life that day. But, the man had made Alistair into a mage, a Dreadlord, a weapon. Without that decision, he would have no power and likely be some incompetent noble, or his family might not even still be here.

Katja
 
Katja leaned forward slightly in her chair, now given permission to look properly. Her gaze swept across the intricate markings carved into his skin, her fingers tightening on the armrests as she listened.

When he spoke of his father—of a man carving magic into his own child—her stomach twisted. The thought of it burned behind her eyes, sharp and unbearable, and she found herself swallowing against the lump forming in her throat.

"So young..." she frowned.

Her lips parted slightly, but no immediate words came to her. Alistair's magic was something to behold, there was no denying that. But at what cost?

She exhaled softly, her voice quieter now, carrying the weight of something unspoken. "That must have been... horrible, I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate, but they were all she could manage.

Her own suffering had been vast, in her mind—she'd suffered loneliness, silence, the weight of Evander’s wrath, the loss of her freedom—but in all of that, she had never once considered that things could have been far worse. That a parent, someone meant to protect, could do something like that.

She hesitated, choosing her next words carefully, frowning as her thoughts tangled. "Evander told me about the academy in Vel Anir. About Dreadlords..." Her voice trailed off, her brow furrowing. "I suppose I assumed he was exaggerating, to frighten me with it. He used to say he'd take me there whenever I fought him too much, or tried to leave. Said parents used to sell their children to the academy—so I should appreciate my circumstances more."

It was strange to think about now. Evander had always used the stories as a warning, a reminder of how merciful he was to keep her instead of tossing her into something worse.

But looking at Alistair now, she wasn’t sure how much of it had actually been a lie.
 
"Yes, it probably was, but I don't really remember it. I was too young."

Alistair was positive that his own psyche had very thoroughly blocked away that memory in his mind, because if he could still relive it over and over again then he would surely break.

"The Academy was a harsh place...It's gotten better in recent years, in fact, I teach there. The revolution made sure to remove the most harmful of practices."

Back to buttoning up the shirt once more, he showed off the others along his arms, neck, hands, legs, and chest. Her reaction was similar to many others, but he remembered the look of some of the Proctors when he was first taken to the Academy. There was a shining light in their eyes like that of someone when they found a deal on a good sword at the market.

"That rune grew with me, but all of the others have been placed on me either by proctors or myself...Each of them tells a story, inlaid with magical power."

They weren't like standard tattoos, there were no beautiful pictures of birds or waves, but each spell that he bothered to serve into his very skin told of a lesson he had been forced to learn that made him want to place the spell there.

Katja
 
"You teach?" Katja’s brow quirked, surprise flickering in her expression. She hadn’t expected that. The way he carried himself—the arrogance, the humour, the reckless confidence—none of it spoke of a teacher. And yet, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. He had the kind of knowledge that could only come from experience, from survival. She imagined there was a lot he could teach if someone was willing to learn.

Her gaze drifted over the runes that marked his skin, tracing their patterns with quiet intrigue. Each one had a story, he said. She wondered what kind of pain had shaped them, what he had endured to carve his magic into his own body. She wanted to ask.

But before she could, a strange unease settled over her. A frown tugged at her lips, and without thinking, she glanced down at herself, fingers slipping beneath the loose fabric of her sleeve.

Her breath caught.

The vine-like scar that had wrapped around her arm, once so familiar, so permanent, was gone.

Her brow furrowed as she pushed the sleeve up higher, her heartbeat quickening. She knew what she would find before she even checked—the same silvery marks that had tendriled over her ribs, coiling down her spine, twisting across her legs… all of them would be gone too.

They were gone because Evander was gone.

Her fingers ghosted over her bare skin, her throat tight. She should have felt relief. She should have celebrated. Instead, all she felt was the strange, hollow weight of absence. Those marks had been a part of her for so long, a symbol of her servitude, yes, but also of her survival. And now, it was as if they had never existed at all.

She swallowed hard and let her sleeve fall back into place, trying to school her expression before looking back at Alistair.

Her arms curled around herself slightly, as if she could still feel the phantom weight of them, even if they were no longer there.

“You should eat. And I should stop bothering you with questions and let you rest.” She laughed sheepishly under her breath.
 
Alistair nearly coughed out laughter at her surprised expression. Did he really not look like a teacher that much? He thought he looked rather distinguished, then again, she had really only known him in rags.

"Yes, although some of my students seemed just as surprised by the fact as you do. I -"

He stopped his joke as he watched her face and aura shift ever so slightly, she was now worried about something else. Then he saw her reach for her arm, had something been there before?

Al knew the importance of markings on the body. They served as a story and when they were gone...it could feel like the story was gone as well.

"You're right. I should eat and so should you, so what do we have to feast on?"

Katja
 
Katja’s mind drifted, her thoughts tangled in the quiet, gnawing uncertainty that settled deep in her chest. The scars were gone, but what did that mean? Evander had saved her when no one else could, had bound her to him in a way she had never fully understood. And now he was dead.

Would she become sick again? Had her life only been borrowed, held together by him all this time? Could she even live without him?

The thought sent a shiver spider-walking down her spine.

“Hm?” She blinked, realising Alistair had asked her a question, his voice dragging her back into the present. Her brows lifted slightly, and she exhaled a quiet breath, forcing herself to push the thoughts aside.

"Oh, there's some bread and salted butter, dried meat, some hard cheese, and a little fruit…" She ran a hand through her hair, sighing as she slumped back in her chair. "I'll hunt tomorrow and prepare something better. I don’t think I could hold my bow steady tonight."

Katja’s lips pursed with a sudden thought. “We could always break into the good wine.” she added with a lilt of mischief.
 
"Of course, I only eat with the finest of wines." Al joked, even though that statement was becoming more and more true every day.

He slowly pulled himself from his resting as he motioned to exit the room and retrieve some food. A smirk pulled at his lips when she said she would hunt. To have a Dreadlord present and still think she needed to do the hunting, some would consider it an insult.

"I'll go and retrieve the food, I think I remember where the kitchen is. You rest here for a moment, I will be right back."

Not waiting for an answer, he quickly slipped out of the room. It may have taken one or two wrong turns, but he eventually found his way to the kitchen and grabbed any piece of edible food that he and his mage hands could carry.

Breaking into the wine cellar had also proven to be an easy feat as Al brought along three bottles of the nicest wines. The vintages were so old that some of the families of Vel Anir would pay small fortunes for them, but that did not matter, they were celebrating after all.

"I have returned triumphant."

Katja
 
Katja had barely parted her lips to interject, to tell him that she had already brought a tray of food, before he had slipped out of the room without waiting for an answer. She huffed a quiet laugh under her breath and let him go. He would figure it out eventually.

Left alone, she took the chance to inspect her skin properly. Healing cuts, bruises and new scars—but none of Evander’s marks on her. For the first time in years, she was untouched by him.

A slow breath left her, and she pulled a blanket tightly around herself before curling up into the chair once more. The snow outside continued to fall, soft and silent, its slow descent hypnotic in the quiet of the room. She let herself watch it, allowing her mind to drift, waiting for Alistair to return... He would find his way. She was sure.

When the clinking of bottles finally announced his return, she turned her head, and to her own surprise, a grin found its way onto her face.

"Three bottles... Gods, he'd be turning in his grave if he had one," she chuckled, but the moment the words left her mouth, the humour curdled. The man was still nothing but dust in the foyer, and here she was making jokes about him before she'd even touched a drop of his wine.

"Sorry," she muttered, though she wasn’t entirely sure to whom.

Shaking it off, she sat up, reaching to take one of the bottles. Without hesitation, she pulled the cork free with her teeth, spitting it onto the floor as she cradled the bottle in one hand, letting it breathe for a moment.

"I snuck a bottle of this to my room on my twenty-first birthday," she admitted, a wry smirk tugging at her lips. "Got blind drunk and fell out of the window in a dramatic attempt to flee this place." She winced slightly at the memory. "Was never allowed to touch a drop again."

With that, she took a long, slow drink straight from the bottle, savouring the burn of the expensive vintage on her tongue before extending it in Alistair’s direction. "I have a few more birthdays to make up for."
 
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