Chapter Text
How could sweat be cold? Sweat was from exercise and exertion. Heat. So why did she feel so cold?
Solona’s hands were clammy, fingers not wanting to work. Her robe seemed to be stuck to her back and she wanted nothing more than to take a long bubble bath, easing away all her anxieties. That would have to wait till after though. If there was an after.
The dimly lit chamber was hardly quiet with templars in their heavy plate shifting and the hushed whispers coming from…. Where? Solona didn't know. Despite the rainbows of color streaming from the stained-glass windows, the room felt dark and oppressive. Elegant arches only served to give the space the reverence it deserved, not the serenity she need. People had died here. Julien. No, she couldn't think about that. She could do this. Besides, who knew what there was to discover within the Fade? It’s not like all the beings that dwelled there wanted to possess her.
Solona swallowed hard, furiously wiping her hands on the sides of her robe.
The familiar faces intermixed with shielded ones, doing little to comfort her. If anything, the blank visages of helmets gave the templars an inhuman appearance. No mercy.
Why couldn't they just let her be? She was hardly in danger of falling prey to demons or practicing blood magic. She would just read her books and not bother anyone. A Harrowing wasn't needed.
Tripping on the edge of her robe, Solona caught herself before she fell, hands splayed like she was part of a balancing act. Well, at least now she was warm, the fire burning her face clashing with her growing shivers, serving only to make her feel like she was going to be sick. Or pass out. Hopefully not both nor at the same time. Perhaps being simply cold was better. She itched her forehead where the golden sunburst would be placed and shuddered. She had to do this. The alternative was death in all but in name. Worse than death in some ways.
The Knight-Commander and the First Enchanter started to talk to her, saying things that she already knew as she listened to the sound of her racing heart. Calm down, Amell. Several long moments of silence passed and it occurred to her that the assembled group was staring at her.
A flicker of kindness passed across the First Enchanter’s withered face. “Are you ready, child?”
Solona’s throat was dry; how did swallowing work again? Could she do this? Could she face a demon? Her eyes caught the slight gleam of a sword. A swift cut through the neck and Solona Amell would be no more. A living death, or possession and death with a smidgen chance of success. She had a poor set of options.
Someone with a voice that sounded remarkably like her own finally spoke.
“I am, First Enchanter.”