A week ago, I reached my thirty-fifth year. I've found myself thinking about this birthday more than most of my others, largely because it's one that for such a long time I did not expect to see.
Templars don't tend to last long. They die in battle, or lyrium takes their mind, or they're ejected from the order and withdrawal from lyrium takes their mind and body both. A Templar who reaches forty is considered one of the
old officers, and I never saw myself becoming one of those.
And yet, here I am. Not only alive, but not staring down a tunnel at inevitable madness or physical deterioration. Doing work that doesn't promise to turn bad or hurt anyone. I have dogs and a girlfriend. This life is so good that I occasionally have to go out and run until I'm soaked through with sweat and on the edge of collapse just to convince myself that it's all real.
Hopefully by thirty-six the strangeness of continuing to live will have worn off a bit.
[Filtered to Max and Dorian]Thank you both. If not for your friendship and support, I doubt I would have made it this far.
[/filter][Filtered to Alexis]I love you.
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