gentleman, is she rly your wife if you don't kill her once?

She was amused with him, and he bit his lip in response. It was in jest, though, and she brought herself closer to him. Noses bumping, foreheads resting against one another. She was so close; and she stole his breath. Long, breathless moments came to a close, and he inhaled softly. They were not you. They carried pieces of you.

But no matter how hard he'd tried, Andraste and the rest of the shard-holders had never been anymore Mythal than themselves. He'd been chasing ghosts. No matter how hard I tried, they were never anyone but themselves.

He stole another kiss, rough in his advance this time, nipping her bottom lip as he pulled away. One hand ran through her hair, fingers carefully twining dark tresses. You've only just dressed, Myta. He murmured the words, as he traced her jaw with the hand not curled into her hair.

But perhaps... you dressed too hastily.