Imagine your OTP reading to each other from their favorite books.
Two words.
Anders’ manifesto
Friend fiction…..
Isabela stopped counting when Aveline turned seventy-five. She knew when the sea was good enough to grant you smooth sailing and a pleasant journey, it was only tempting fate to ask it to continue.
And it had been such a pleasant journey, the sailing so smooth, that, though it worried her, Isabela rarely thought of the memories Aveline was rapidly stumbling over and losing, or how weakly she moved when she creaked about the cabin or rolled out of bed slowly.
So it was that Aveline was seated regally in her chair, her hands feebly scraping at the starchy pages, her thin lips twisted in a wry frown as she guiltily enjoyed Isabela’s story.
The pirate noted Aveline’s wobbling fingers, skittering around the edge of the page, but not quite able to grasp it. Isabela laid her hand over Aveline’s, dark skin covering pale, spotted with age, the bones showing through gossamer-thin wrinkled skin, and gently turned the page for her.
“Do you remember, big girl? Do you remember the story you told me so many years ago? About your father? Hmm?”
Isabela gave up as Aveline stared into the distance unresponsively, her wrinkled mouth trembling idly, her rheumy eyes shifting listlessly.
Isabela whispered the story intently, her voice, a bit raspier with age, but still smooth as melted caramel, shushing over the especially naughty parts. Aveline’s expression did not change, through her lips continued to tremble.
Isabela smiled affectionately and laid the book down, kissing Aveline’s deeply-wrinkled cheek gently.
She patted Aveline’s still-huge forearm gently, and rose.
“I’ll get you something to drink, love.”
Isabela disappeared through the door.
Aveline sat for a few moments, her mouth trembling.
“Yes, Isabela,” she murmured to a room she didn’t quite recognize as empty. “I remember.”
Oh man. I love this. ::wipes at eyes::
Kirkwall Was Totally Built On a Hellmouth 