Cogito, ergo sum

Being a hedge witch was a legacy, a tradition of their kind. So far the only line of tradition she had broken, was teaching her son the magic as it was typically reserved for women in the family. She stared at an old grimoire, the cracked leather flaking under her fingers. This book had been her life, her childhood, had been Kieran's childhood too. But things had been different with Kieran... with her. She wondered if the damn book had been her sisters' lives too. She'd have to talk to them eventually, ask. She couldn't trust the spirit that she shared her body with to give her a direct and truthful answer, after all.

Reading word after word in her mother's handwriting, remembering when she was taught the magic. She was raised up into it, unlike Asha'bellanar. Though, that had been the plan... Loghain was supposed to get his few years with her, teaching her to be a child, before Morrigan sank her claws into the girl and ripped apart her reality to ensure she'd survive in this shitstorm of a world. Loghain was gone, her daughter had gone from three years of age to teenaged practically overnight, and she hated her life. Not surprising. You were never one for the domestics. A voice chimed in her head, as she turned another page in the grimoire. Dark magics and rituals were transcribed here, magic practically oozed from the grimoire.

'Mother...'

She stood, slamming the book shut as she fixed the girl with a stare. We're going to practice illusion-crafting. Create two copies of yourself, now. No pleasantries, no how was Ferelden, no check-in about Lana and the twins. Right to it.