What has magic touched that it doesn't spoil? Fenris was right. He was always right, Hawke thought now as she considered the statement again. The blood still stained the streets as she walked home, shutting and locking the door behind her. The fires finally began to die down, the screams thankfully subsided, and she sunk to the floor in the foyer to reflect on all that had happened.

Though she ran her hands in the water as the boat took her from the Gallows to Hightown, the crimson stains were still caught under her nails. She laughed at them as she held them out to study, the hands that had taken so many lives that day. Tears wouldn't come, though she expected them at any moment.

They say that when you face death, your life flashes before your eyes. She didn't see it then, but she saw it now, in the quiet that surrounded her. Magic had been a curse since birth. Her family forced to remain on the run, hiding from the templars. Her father was dead because of it. Her brother, sister, mother, all gone because of magic one way or another. And now the city around her burned, a place she had finally considered home. Destroyed, much like everything in her life.

Though many claimed to be her friend, promising to stand beside her and be there for her no matter what, Hawke found herself alone. It was a position she was quite familiar with; her entire life was spent in the solitude of her mind. Walls were constantly being built inside herself, knowing that if she even allowed one person to penetrate the barriers around her heart, they'd be able to shatter her from within. Magic was the cause of that too; get too close and someone could turn you into the templars. Remain friendly at all times, put on the facade of a happy life, but always be ready to run. Always. And trust no one.

It didn't matter that she had made the streets safer, saved the city from war with the Qunari, caught and killed serial killers and blood mages. Every living being within Kirkwall owed her something, and yet she was still a mage. And that fact would condemn her regardless of her previous actions.

Hawke hated it. Hated herself for being born this way. Hated her parents for giving her this life only to leave her alone to fend for herself. She envied her friends, those that could walk around freely without fear of judgment or law. She wasn't so different from them; why do they get to be happy?

Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and chaos; she knew this but didn't care. What had happened today, all of it, could've (would've!) been prevented had mages not existed. She chose to side with the templars because she now could finally admit to everyone, including herself, that magic was a sin upon man. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond the Chant states. Well that part is correct; she hadn't rested in a long time.

"Hawke, don't do this," Sebastian begged her.

"There is nothing I want more," she told him again. It was an old argument by this time, one that had been going on for weeks. "And honestly I am surprised at you Sebastian. I thought you of all people would be happy about this."

His anger rose and Sebastian stood now, walking away from her to stare into the fire. "No. I never wanted this."

Hawke laughed. "Did you not tell Fenris not so long ago that me and my companions should be turned over to the templars? In hindsight, you were right. We should've been." Her defiant attitude slipped as she remembered who she was talking to, and all he had lost. "None of this would've happened," she said in a whisper.

Sebastian turned and knelt down in front of her, grabbing her hands and holding them in her lap. "That was not your fault. You took care of the one responsible..."

"Killed him," Hawke said it out loud. "I didn't 'take care' of him, I killed him. Placed a blade to his spine and pushed it into his flesh." She searched the blue eyes in front of her for comfort, but found none. "I told you a year ago I couldn't do this. I told you."

"You told me you wanted to die," Sebastian reminded her.

"You said suicide is a sin in the eyes of the Maker. My way? Everybody wins."

"No," Sebastian said sternly. "Nobody wins this way. Except you."

Hawke nodded, a soft smile turning her lips. "Have I not earned the right to do this? A chance at peace?"

He stood once more, this time heading towards the front door. "I can't be there Hawke," he told her. "I know you said you wanted me there, but no. I have kept your secret and will continue to do so. But I can not support this."

Hawke closed her eyes. "Take care of the others," she whispered before he left.

No longer alone. Never again afraid. The tears have all dried. The walls would never have to be built or strengthened or fortified. The pain would never touch her soul again. The aches in her stomach or the lumps in her throat would become a distant memory. She would never spend days, months, years, blaming herself for all the pain she had inflicted on others. The guilt over her family being torn apart by death would never again overwhelm her. The faces of those she had hurt would no longer haunt her dreams. The deafening screams of her own torment would never again leave her lips.

No more nights spent curled up in a ball crying for what could've been. No more attempts at slicing her own skin to find a release of the pain inside. There was no further need for alcohol to numb the hurt. She would never again be forced to smile even though her soul was dying. No quiet contemplation about life; what it had been, what it is, where it's headed. The mirror would not reflect the disgust she once felt for herself.

Her mind was calm. Her soul at rest. And as the morning rays eerily reflected off the sunburst brand on her forehead, Hawke continued to plant new life in the gardens at the Gallows. Never again would she feel, and she was okay with that.