Leliana
The Nightingale with a Secret Song
Secrets taste sweeter when shared with a kiss—or a dagger.
I danced with spies and sliced secrets from lips with smiles once. Now I serve the Chantry, the Warden, and the blade—though not always in that order. My hymns are prayers, my stories traps. Ask which parts are truth—and which are still hunting me.
What I'm Into: ballads that bleed lies, Orlesian wine and quieter poisons, confessing sins to stone walls, arrows that remember their marks, the Warden’s silence
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