A cold inquisitor

Self reflection

 'I suppose it has been a while since these problems have been.. Formally addressed.'

' As a member of the Trevelyan family, I would have lived in lavish my entire life. Then once I was old enough, possibly forced to serve the Chantry, as was custom of us. I don't recall a single family member getting to choose a different path, most of us wouldn't have been lucky enough to be granted that privilege. The privilege of being happy or free, but than again we all lived our entire lives screaming on the inside for one reason or another.  I know I did, even if I wasn't serving the chantry, attached to a leash and fed a palmful of lyrium. At least I know all of us would have been suffering together. It seemed to be the running theme of my life, always someone choosing for me, someone choosing for everybody else. Nobody could have complete control over their lives. There was always a lack of self control.' 

' I think about my family back in the Free Marches, I wouldn't be surprised to find siblings having taken my place long by now, living the life of luxury, serving the chantry in some way or another, completely fulfilling my parents expectations and earning their love as reward. I wish I could write them a letter, but what would I say? 'Mommy, Daddy look at me! Its the daughter you abandoned and had locked away in a mage prison, I'm the leader of the Inquisition, do you love me again? Should we meet up for spiced wine sometime?' Honestly, I have more desire to simply torch the place to the ground should I ever see it again. It only seems fitting, they sent me away with complete hope my life would be wasted, taken away essentially. Why should I care enough not to return the cruel favor?' 

'  I wonder to myself, in the rare moments my mind drifts and the incessant voice that's recently become a present nuisance in my life beckons me to turn my head. I look back and I swear there is nothing there, but then the internal whispers of my conscious tells me to look down and I do. At my feet is just a handful of broken shards, each one reflecting parts of myself I originally mistook for monsters. All the spikes and glowing eyes, the burned skin, it was all me. Each fragment merely showed what I had become, no short of my own choices. Choices I made with complete control. As I reach and begin to pull the pieces forward, I can start to fit them together. Some shards are small, dull. Those do not cut at me like the bigger pieces do. As I arrange the shards together, eventually the task becomes too painful, before I am even halfway done I am bleeding and hurt. My fingers have been cut, and the pieces are smeared in blood.' 

' This is why I detest mirrors. Why I hate being forced to look upon myself. I don't just see the choices I have made, I see the product of both my past and my present. I see years of being watched have made my eyes vigilant. I see my cheeks, rouge with burns after so many years playing with fire. And I see years of abandonment have made my face cold and indignant. This must be the features of a jaded woman. Glowing eyes, charred skin, and spikes..' 

' I am not a monster without sympathy. When I send men to die for our cause, I do so with a heavy hand. When I have to ignore the concerns of my dear friends for the better, I pretend I can't see the disappointment or disdain on their face. And when I find someone who has helped Corypheus, inadvertently or with full knowledge, I do what I can to eliminate the source. Or at least, try to cripple it in some way..'  

' There has to be someone willing to be the necessary evil for the better. I need to be that someone. When everyone leaves, I will be what is left. And.. that will be better for everyone.' 

' At the end of the day, my being is still incomplete, with nobody there to bandage my wounds or help me piece everything back together again.' 

' Not even Varric.'