Stunningly versatile, msbarrows is an incredibly prolific writer, who relishes in expanding the possibilities of minor characters and exploring the most unusual of relationships, whether they be romantic, friendly, or antagonistic. Humor to horror to love to lust to death and back again, she has explored the depths of Thedas in her work. Besides her own art, she also colors with other artists, creating whole new interpretations of beautiful works.
What do you say to your daughter, when you have been away while she watched her mother die?
"I’m sorry," was not enough. Nor could "I love you" remove the hurt. "She never told me," was not excuse enough, for not having been here.
And so he stared dumbly at this calm young woman, standing gracefully erect, with her smoothly braided hair and neat clothes. Nothing at all like the exuberant young girl with bedraggled pony tails, grass-stained short dress, and skinned knees whom he remembered.
"You’ve grown," he said finally, voice hoarse and breaking a little on the words. As stupid as all the other things he could have said, but hadn’t.Of course she’d grown. Time had not stopped in Gwaren while he was off in Denerim, working at Maric’s side.
"Yes," she said, and then suddenly stepped close, and flung her arms around him, the girl he remembered showing through. "I missed you,” she said, burying her face against his chest for a moment, then looked up at his face. “Mother wouldn’t let me send for you. She said what you were doing was too important.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. Celia… “Your mother should have known that she was more important,” he said finally. “I would have come. When I heard…” he broke off, unable to continue.
Anora nodded, then slipped her arm around his waist. “Come,” she said, kindly, with a maturity far beyond her years. “I will show you the garden where I sprinkled her ashes.”
He nodded, and let her lead him away, thinking, as he did, she is so much like her mother. And regretted all the moments that he had not been here, with Celia, to see his daughter grow up into this regal young woman, to spend what time he could with his family, to be with Celia in her final sickness. Another person lost to eternity while he followed duty, another loved one dead without him being able to say a proper good-bye to them; his father, then Rowan, now Celia.
"You will come with me to Denerim, afterwards," he said.
"Of course," Anora answered, calmly, almost coolly, the smooth mask back on her face. But her arm tightened for a moment around his waist, clinging to him like the little girl often had, and for now it was enough.
— No Proper Goodbyes