I thought it would hurt more than this. Odd. When I compare it to all the other injuries I’ve sustained in my short existence, this doesn’t even crack the top ten. I feel detached, floating. My mind is aware of what is going on, but seems highly reluctant to acknowledge or register the pain of it anymore.
It almost makes me bitter, being robbed of my pain. We have a strange relationship, us two.
Then again, maybe I’ve just already lost too much blood.
I can taste it though - the blood. It’s choking me now.
My boots all caked with mud dragged across the blanket of dirt that was the platoon’s camp. Returning from my search and rescue mission empty handed and exhausted made my heart hurt and my body sluggish.
I looked like hell, felt like it, too. Though that was hardly unexpected. I’d barely eaten or slept in the forty-nine hours straight I’d been out scouring this Light-forsaken continent for any sign of Darroc. My hair was matted and filthy, closer to brown than blonde. Twigs, leaves and Light knows what else were tangled in it and the paint I’d smeared on my face to blend in had been slowly replaced by dirt and grime.
I SHOULD have gone and tracked down Sal as soon as I left the Shrine, but my blood would not cool. Too many emotions churned and bubbled under my skin after I’d run into Darroc at the Shrine of Two Moons. I should have expected it. He was a Commander after all. He’d said he was going back to Pandaria and his unit.
(( Continuned from Darroc's Fracture ))
The first thing that registered as I awoke was the weight of an arm draped over my waist. Eyes jerking themselves open, in spite of feeling as dry as sandpaper, I quickly glanced to my left.
He was still here.
((This takes place following Teslaan's blog: Caught In The Spider's Web ) )
Teslaan was silent the whole time we prepared and went over our gear checklist, hovering by the portal set up in the Valley of Honor. I knew the set of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw and the way he avoided looking my direction at all.
He was livid.
The woods sounded the same as always, playing their unique symphony with the unfailing precision of a soothing orchestra. The rush of the nearby waterfall, the rustling of the gentle breeze through the trees and the muffled cooing and cawing of birds that soared overhead should've eased the tension rolling through my body.
But I was anything but soothed.
Candlelight caresses the room around me, bathing it in the soft glow that often accompanies a dream. The way things had developed lately, I felt like this was a dream. My real life seemed to fade away with each passing day, led more and more toward the precipice of the surreal.
It was invigorating. The scent of the rich soil, dotted with floral notes that wafted from the flourishing plantlife was intoxicating to my nostrils.
There was a strange peace only found here. There was no facade, no act to put on for the rocks and the trees and the blue sky. I could breathe here. The sun was bright in the sky as I made my way lazily back to my estate. The night hadn't been a total loss. Lina and I seemed to be forming a bond. One that I found myself relieved to have in the grand chaotic scheme of things. My slow steps focused on the sounds of the forest, the rustle of animals moving through the underbrush, the wind rustling through trees that were centuries old and the softly bubbling waters of the brooks and rivers that wove gently through the land. I drank it all in.
Besides, after last night, I needed the walk to clear my head.
I hate passing out.
I just want that on record.
Self-examination is an interesting concept. Especially for someone in my position.
The reflection in the mirror was a constant reminder of the lie I was living. A life that shouldn’t be. Mine was terminated early, but fortunately or unfortunately, my murderer had the desire and the means to drag me back.
I doubt the woman whose body I now owned was so lucky.
My feet kicked up sand, little by little as I made my way along the beach. Little granules sprayed up behind me like tiny, silent fireworks, testaments to my every step. I could feel my lungs burning in painful protest to the rigorous exercise regimen I’d begun. I was far too soft, the evidence of the spoiled lifestyle made itself known on the generous curves of my frame.
That needed to change. I could not afford to give that appearance in my dealings with other noble houses. No one needed to see a weak, vulnerable elf prancing about. It only ever attracted the predators and I was not content to sit idly by and become easy prey.
A salt water sting flares across the dozens of tiny abrasions that pepper my hands as I wash the blood off. I welcome the sharp bite like a cherished memory. It reminds me that I’m alive.
It reminds me that they’re not.
My little box of belongings. The one I kept polished, the one I kept in good shape when I let everything else fall apart.
It was my heart, manifested.
The grungy old building smelled of booze, acrid smoke and the thrumming of the music that resonated through the walls. I felt my lips slide into a satisfied grin that I rarely allowed myself. The Cesspool was lively tonight.
My body worked like a perfectly calibrated machine - easily as flawless and efficient as one of the many brilliant contraptions scattered around Cynrick’s workshop. My anger was channeled perfectly, humming through my veins like an electric current - the source of my strength and precision.
1. deliberate or conscious neglect; negligence; delinquency:dereliction of duty.
2. the act of abandoning something.
That was what it had come down to. The Spider was abandoning her web.
Captivity really didn’t become her.
The cold iron of the shackles chafed her skin and the uncomfortable position she was bound in was making her muscles stiff.
Though at least now that fucking Whitedawn bitch wasn’t spewing questions at her. She was grateful for the solitude.
Narrow feet - wrapped in leather she’d tanned herself - muffled most of the sound her footsteps made. She scurried along, much like her namesake, down Murder Row toward the small shelter the priestess had recently opened amidst the despair and decay of the city’s underbelly.
A few months ago she’d likely have scoffed at the idea, but due to the recent and rapid life changes that had slapped her in the face, she was glad for it.
After the hateful words Darroc had slung at her last night, the Spider needed to kill something. It didn’t matter overmuch who, just as long as the deaths wouldn’t be anyone who’d be particularly missed.
The green Telaari grapes were ripe where they sat in a bowl on the battered little vanity, dilapidated and forgotten under the weight of years past. The bowl was plain and made of some cheap wood, she was sure, but it still looked out of place there. Anything frivolous did when it came to her home - but her love of fruit was one guilty pleasure she always allowed herself.
The stool she sat on, next to it, was lifted from some bar or another,- she couldn’t really even remember where she’d gotten it now. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t the focus of her attention. Making due with what she had was a way of life for Faye, and she’d even constructed brackets for the mirror to mount it to the wall instead, since the built-in supports on the vanity itself had long since crumbled.
That wasn’t the only thing that had.