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"I want the world back."
The substitution's rehearsed and careful in its placement. Never say something that would give it ownership, don't give it leeway to be controlled and slice into your skin the same way a knife does. If you’re being completely honest for once, and Maker please forgive you, you don't care about the world anymore. The world could keep screaming and dying, and the people she raised to fight could continue their pointless rebellion against a new God for all you don’t care. The realization that you’ve nothing left to lose makes your heart burn as your knife glides across Felix's welcoming throat.
You don't want the world back.
No, you want your world back.
You want subterfuge to take hold of your every synapse and turn it into a task with the beat of raven wings and crumpled papers. The secrets were always your favorite gift from dead-eyed agents, with one word and a carefully placed knife you knew you could take down any empire and build it back up. You want the feeling of a bowstring snapping against your forearm as the arrow flies true to its target. Follow up, turn the blade twice to sever the artery, tilt it just so that they feel the tip through their back ribs.
She taught you that one.
You want order and precision.
Above all, you want her.
You want the smell of pine and the andraste's grace oil she'd dab behind her ears because she knew you loved the smell of it on her skin. You want the feeling of calloused hands carefully weaving your hair into cute braids. You want short, snowy hair between your fingers and hear the pleased groan that rumbles in her throat when you thread through the strands. You want taut muscles flushed against sweat-slick skin, her thick legs intertwined with yours and her lips just under your jaw where you liked it.
You want the smile you'd save only for her.
You want to hear her speak the language of her ancestors and see her face light up with every understandable phrase.
Ma vhenhan.
Ar lath ma.
Ir abelas.
(you wish you didn't understand that last one)
Sure, a small part of you wanted the world back. The sun in the sky and letters about who to kill next or who fucked the wrong noble in a dark alley. The routine and excitement, a small part of you missed it all.
But you'd throw all of it away to have your world back even for a moment.
To have her back, if just to say good-bye.