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

There had been nothing in her long sleep that rivaled the startling way that her body responded to something as simple as a touch. Even the air around her, ambient and mostly inert, elicited curious sensations, her skin tightening and even pebbling in some places. Half of her focus turned inward, as hands… teased her.

You’ve grown bolder, Feredir, she not quite gasped out, her hips pushing forward to chase after the fingers that caressed over and against her. Guiding her over to a bed, laying her out over it. And then…

He left.

The room.

She eased herself up, propping up onto her elbows so that she could stare incredulously after him, at the door that he’d actually walked through. Well, that was… frowning, Mythal realized that she had no words for it, nothing to describe what she was feeling. Irritation was closest. Yes. That would do nicely. She was irritated. Which there was only one remedy for.

Swinging her legs over, she sat up and primly slid off the bed. With a toss of long, dark hair over a shoulder, she went over to a window. Promptly climbing out of it, she landed lightly on her feet. Clasping her hands behind her back, she began sauntering forward, letting her curiosity rise to the fore. There. A stairway for her to climb, so she did.

Let Solas paint this.