[It's a cold fist wrapped around her heart, her lungs, squeezing the space out, breath in a 2-4 beat as she firmly, not quite gently, holds them down, finishes tying it off. They weigh close to nothing at all when she scoops them into her arms, cradling their struggling form them in her shuddering arms, the tang of iron tapering off as the blood clots and dries on her forearm. A gruesome reproduction of an ancient image.
And you caused this.
It's not until Lavellan speaks that she snaps back to focus, staring at the blade in his hand. Shifting Chara to one arm, pressed against her own body, Shepard takes it, gingerly, wordlessly, turning it this way and that, before pocketing it just as carefully.]
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And you caused this.
It's not until Lavellan speaks that she snaps back to focus, staring at the blade in his hand. Shifting Chara to one arm, pressed against her own body, Shepard takes it, gingerly, wordlessly, turning it this way and that, before pocketing it just as carefully.]
I'll hold on to it. For now, at least.