I see what must be done, and I do it.

Cassandra woke up early, as she did every morning, and rolled over so that she may leave the bed, as she did every morning, and then crashed to the floor in a flurry of hooves and tail and other such nonsense.

"Maker!"

She scrambled up to her-- legs, breathing harshly, eyes big. "What magic is this?!" she snapped, staring down at her front hooves. She padded around in a circle, attempting to get some impression of her ordeal. "Andraste's--"

She neighed. Loudly. Angrily.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

The bloody island!

[[ closed door, open post! ]]

Cassandra had returned the last batch of books to the library. She was beginning to run out of novels in her preferred genre, which perhaps made her sadder than she should have necessarily been.

So she had done an experiment today, and now she was hauling in the results: five books, randomly picked off of the shelves, going by covers she didn't recognize. She put them on her desk as she came in, then sank down on the bed with a pleased sigh. At least she would still have plenty to read for this week; after that, she would have to ask Garik to help her find the novels on the line again.

"Computers," she muttered. "Maker."

[[ open! ]]

The book of dirty poetry Cassandra had confiscated from Garik was still... there. On her nightstand. Mocking her. Moreso now that her one class of the day had finished and she would have all the time in the world to stare at it while it mocked. And it mocked fiercely.

Perhaps she could just take a single peek?

No. She had taken it from Garik to ensure he returned to doing his work the way he was intended to. It was merely here for safekeeping. Yes.

... if this resulted in her spending most of the remainder of the morning sighing in the general direction of the book as she attempted to focus on cleaning her bracers, well. It did.

[[ open post, open door ]]

Cassandra had been in a perfectly ordinary repressing mood all week. She had eaten, she had slept, she had menaced the dummies, she had attended her classes and continued her studies into the island's portal system. There was nothing the matter. All was normal.

Then had come Thursday night. And following it, the Friday morning. And now it was Friday afternoon, and all was terrible, and why had she not purchased more clothing?

And more importantly... Why had she bothered confronting Face? Why had she been so stupid? She was leaving soon. She had ample reason not to address the matter. And-- and he was a pain. This was ridiculous. Why did she care?

Anyone entering the room this afternoon would find her digging helplessly through what little clothing she possessed, attempting to find something other than the eggplant-and-white sweater and black coat she had purchased off the boy with the strange hair months ago. Well. Something other than an unending supply of t-shirts.

Or her armor.

Maker preserve her.

[[ open post, open door, around all day! ]]

Poor Cassandra had not been aware of the consequences of Fandom reunions when she had gone to bed as a teenager last night, and upon waking up an adult in the morning, she still was not. She was confused, yes, as she realized that the bed she was in was considerably smaller than the over-the-top one in the Divine's quarters.

She was doubly confused when she saw the lamps.

"Maker preserve me," she muttered, sitting up in bed. "Where am I...?"

Then she noticed the bed on the other side of the room, and a dawning sense of dread kicked in.

[[ open, but on SP until later tonight 'cuz movietime. ]]

It had been several days since Leland had been chased from the island. By now, Cassandra had recuperated in full, and was no longer quite as preoccupied with beating herself up over getting sidetracked by a forgery. Instead, she had far more practical matters to attend to.

For example, her armor.

It had gained no small amount of blood spatters over the past two weeks of hunting deer, and the only significant cleaning she had given to it was while speaking to Face in the library some time ago. So now she was seated on a chair in her room, running a rag through each nook and cranny. She was peeling flaked blood out of the strangest places.

"Ugh."

[[ post open, door open! ]]

On a day where Face hadn't been in the library, Cassandra had snuck on in to browse the Young Adult literature stacks. She was running out of fanfiction to read, and she craved another helping of some tale to keep her busy.

She had eventually found one: Stricken, a daring tale about all matter of technology she didn't understand, and the couple torn because of it. It was... extremely engaging.

She had entirely forgotten she was meant to be in the salle to train this afternoon. The book was that gripping. So she was currently spread out across her bed, leaning on a pillow as she fervently tore through the pages. Their world was such a terrible one! The struggle that faced the lovers was so intense! She could hardly put it down!

... Cassandra would not linger on the fact the book resembled the Shieldmaiden tales quite closely, thank you.

[[ door open, post open! ]]

It had been a week now since Cassandra had been sent here by that mage's failed spell, and she had yet to uncover a way back. It would come, of that she was sure, but progress was not coming as fast as she would like. Being hauled in by rodents that morning hadn't done much to diminish her frustration.

But it did need to be diminished, or it might well eat at her purpose.

When she returned to her room, she did not proceed onward to take breakfast. She had been disturbed during morning prayer, and she had to make up for it. She had been frustrated that she had not had time to put her armor on before, but now it was a boon: she could slide easily to her knees in front of the bed without undue strain.

"Maker, my enemies are abundant. Many are those who rise up against me. But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion, should they set themselves against me."

The familiar words, spoken in familiar rhythm slid through her, calming.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

The Canticle of Trials had always been a comfort to her. It was no different now.

[[ open post, cracked door ]]