06-20-2020, 07:24 PM
Trigger Warning: The below snapshot explores extreme despair and desperation, thus touches upon troubling subjects such as suicidal thoughts and self-harm.
It's cold.
I'm f̦͉̪r͉̠̼e̞͕e̦͙z͓͇̙i͇͓̠n̪̺͜g͙͙͇.
Velameestra pulled her legs closer to her chest where she was curled with her back pressed into the corner of the couch she had claimed as resting place for the evening. Or, at least, what amounted to "evening" in Northrend. While the sun was low outside, light was still filtering through the fogged windows of the study.
Though not enough to cast any true light.
The room had stayed fairly dim since her arrival, both out of necessity for most of her partners in her undertaking, and her own preferences.
Why am I...
The elf shifted faintly, twisting her arm against her knee. Malande's healing had, fortunately, assuaged the majority of the damage, though her limbs had continued to shiver uncontrollably since the conclusion of her most recent experiment. Even once the more lasting damage was resolved, the residual effects had nestled into her being like the chill of an icy winter morning.
Or a long-forgotten grave.
The bite of a vampyr infected despair.
The first inklings of that hypothesis had been there from the moment the Grand Magister had bit her the day of her arrival. It was painful. In the moment, the pain overwrote the more subtle effects of the act of feeding. But the more she relented, the more obvious it was.
Traces of fear, like someone watching you in the night, no matter how much she rationalized it away.
Depression that she molded instead into the low hum of anger.
Hopelessness in the face of everything.
It had a psychological effect on the donor. Subtle in small doses. More easily reasoned away. But potentially suffocating otherwise.
It needs to be understood.
No one had liked the idea. It had been relented to, yes. From an objective standpoint, it was information that would be useful in understanding the new condition--the hunger--that had afflicted their people. From both perspectives.
But it hadn't been liked.
They feed on life and infect despair...
n̡̞̦o̦͕͖t̢̞͇ t͉͖̺o͙͖͕ c͙͔͍a̝̫̙r̢̫͉e̡͖̝?̻͜͜
Subconsciously, her nails buried themselves into the fabric of her leggings as she pulled her jacket more tightly around her. There had been multiple instances she had tried to close her eyes, but in the darkness--blinded from the different areas of the room she could focus on--the thoughts and feelings that had started to permeate the corners of her mind just grew more invasive.
Arkha'din hadn't taken his eyes off his Mistress all night.
Malande's presence, though unobtrusive, hadn't avoided the arcanist's detection if she opted to look for it. Every ten minutes or so the cowled grove priestess had been peeking into the study to check on the well-being of its occupant.
For most of those instances, Vel hadn't moved.
Who else will?
A sharp pain pierced the dull throbbing in her arm as Vel's nails dug securely into her flesh. She looked down at it, her thoughts momentarily interrupted as she forced her death hold to release--revealing the dark indents she had left in her pale skin. Other dark marks--remnants of puncture wounds that had been mostly healed by magic--connected the trail of her veins like towns on a map.
A humorless, dark chuff escaped her lips as the faint light in her eyes traced the healing wounds.
What good am I doing in the end?
What am I trying to prove?
Because people relied on me.
Practical, objective, ambitious Velameestra Windrunner.
Her nails dug into place again, piercing her skin like nails as she raked them along her arm, gripping herself tightly as she pulled her knees impossibly closer to her chest.
The woven bracelet on her wrist slid to her fingers, the polished stones on it glinting in what minimal light there was in the room. Instinctively, Vel's eyes went to it, and she felt her heart stop as if it had been caught in a vice.
"It's dark, Vel. What do I do? What can I do? All my life, the Light was with me... but I'm alone now. And I'm so scared."
Arator...
What everyone is going through.
Her fingertips illuminated as she started to call upon her innate stores of magic, casting light on the deep scratches she had left in her forearm, and her eyes flickered to the tattoo that was etched into her wrist beneath the bracelet.
"Vel, there are some awful rumors going around. Come on, kiddo. You promised you'd come back."
The magic faded.
"I did... didn't I...?" Her voice cracked as she whispered into the silence, her eyes gliding over the dark corners of the room. Arkha'din hissed softly, having been drawn out by the momentary flare of magic. She tasted the tang of blood in her mouth as her lips moved and released the pressure her teeth had been putting on them.
The elf took a shaky breath, her body shuddering as she lowered her arm back to its place where it encircled her knees.
...but I can't make it better if I'm gone.
Her eyes flickered to the doorway of the study. Alleria hadn't wanted to leave that night. She was certain that her aunt had been the one who encouraged Malande's abnormally frequent check-ins. If there was anything that had become evident, it was that the eldest Windrunner sister--for all her stoicness--likely felt as alone and scared as her son.
Vampyric or not. They were still people.
There were ways to show that.
Vel's eyes searched the cracks in the floor. Her heart still felt like it was in a vice, her nails once more digging into the back of her wrist as a means to ground herself against the permeating chill in her soul.
...if I'm doomed to fail...
It's cold.
So cold.
I'm f̦͉̪r͉̠̼e̞͕e̦͙z͓͇̙i͇͓̠n̪̺͜g͙͙͇.
Velameestra pulled her legs closer to her chest where she was curled with her back pressed into the corner of the couch she had claimed as resting place for the evening. Or, at least, what amounted to "evening" in Northrend. While the sun was low outside, light was still filtering through the fogged windows of the study.
Though not enough to cast any true light.
The room had stayed fairly dim since her arrival, both out of necessity for most of her partners in her undertaking, and her own preferences.
Ỉ̴̛̹̜̲́̀̆t̶̜͍͂ ̴̨̜͎̝̇̋̋̋̒ h̶͍̪͈̺̏͝u̶̹̾̈́̏͑ṟ̶̀͋͌ţ̵̛̫̲̞̮s̵͇̹̙̝̦̓̄͆
Why am I...
...D̷͈͎̲͙̜͋̊͝ö̵̢̲̦̏͆͛̋ì̷̧̒̓͊n̶̨̥̠̣̯̑͝g̷̡̦͙͆̈́̌ ̸̤̯̭̆͜t̴̲͒h̶̙̘̳̿͊͆ȋ̵͖̤͕͜ṣ̴̡͙̎́̓͗̈ ̴̬͈̎̉͐̀̓ẗ̶̖̭̦̪̗͗ö̶̙̞̭̘͔́̆̏̿ ̶̯̣̘̯̅̓̅͒̋m̵͖̓́͘y̵̡̡̑̽̓͂š̵̢͉̬̥̂e̶͜͝͝l̵͇͉͒́̂̅͝f̶͉̥͍̣̝̏̏
The elf shifted faintly, twisting her arm against her knee. Malande's healing had, fortunately, assuaged the majority of the damage, though her limbs had continued to shiver uncontrollably since the conclusion of her most recent experiment. Even once the more lasting damage was resolved, the residual effects had nestled into her being like the chill of an icy winter morning.
Or a long-forgotten grave.
What's it really going to accomplish?
The bite of a vampyr infected despair.
The first inklings of that hypothesis had been there from the moment the Grand Magister had bit her the day of her arrival. It was painful. In the moment, the pain overwrote the more subtle effects of the act of feeding. But the more she relented, the more obvious it was.
Traces of fear, like someone watching you in the night, no matter how much she rationalized it away.
Depression that she molded instead into the low hum of anger.
Hopelessness in the face of everything.
It had a psychological effect on the donor. Subtle in small doses. More easily reasoned away. But potentially suffocating otherwise.
It needs to be understood.
No one had liked the idea. It had been relented to, yes. From an objective standpoint, it was information that would be useful in understanding the new condition--the hunger--that had afflicted their people. From both perspectives.
But it hadn't been liked.
They feed on life and infect despair...
They will be seen as m̷̡̛̙̝̾̉͋o̴͐ͅṉ̵̹͍̐ṣ̸̿t̵̨̻̲̙̋̍̍ē̸̟̲̰̏͊̓́r̴̭̫̯͍̈́s̶̬̘̆͑̓̂̓.
How delusional can I be to think that can be changed?
How delusional can I be to think that can be changed?
Ị̴̏͒̈́͋͛ ̸̧̻̭̖̺͒̌̇f̵̡̛̯̯͉̃̋̊̚á̴̤̫̐̋̇̿ī̵͎͕͊l̵̫̂e̶̩̳͐̈́̾d̸̙̪̱̝͊̂͠ in the first place after all.
Do you remember...when you pretended
n̡̞̦o̦͕͖t̢̞͇ t͉͖̺o͙͖͕ c͙͔͍a̝̫̙r̢̫͉e̡͖̝?̻͜͜
I've always been a terrible liar.
Subconsciously, her nails buried themselves into the fabric of her leggings as she pulled her jacket more tightly around her. There had been multiple instances she had tried to close her eyes, but in the darkness--blinded from the different areas of the room she could focus on--the thoughts and feelings that had started to permeate the corners of her mind just grew more invasive.
Arkha'din hadn't taken his eyes off his Mistress all night.
Malande's presence, though unobtrusive, hadn't avoided the arcanist's detection if she opted to look for it. Every ten minutes or so the cowled grove priestess had been peeking into the study to check on the well-being of its occupant.
For most of those instances, Vel hadn't moved.
H̷̠͉̐̀̚͠͝ỏ̵͖͇̩̰̬w̶̠̜̮̅̆̀ ̷̩̪̉̽̾̎͝ḿ̸͍á̵͖̯͕̝n̶̡̞͖͍͒̊͛̈́͝y̸̲͉̱̗̾ͅ ̴̦̜̱̪̅̿̉͑͠m̴̖̬̺̰̘̆̕o̶̻͇͕̩͋͋͂͑͜r̸̠͑͂̐e̶̯̽̉͘͝ ̷̩͙̔͊͠w̶̰̝̾͝į̷̡̫̯̘̀̈͂͝l̸̙̆ḻ̵̬̋̆͊͂ ̸͙͕̭̑̆I̵̛̳͕̫͙͕̍̅̉̽ ̸̮̋̑̄f̴̜̖͔̂ả̸͈̆̇̔̕ị̵͙̃l̴̠̼̈́?̵̣͕̑͛́̉̒
They trust me.And they're fools to.
Am I really so oblivious to think that I'd be the one to find the answers?Who else will?
H̴͇̄̕o̵̡͚̪͖͌w̷͇̓́̔ ̵̩̮̙͚͇̉̏̒̒͘m̷̨͇̯̳̑a̷̬͙̎̕͜n̸̨̞̲͎͚͌̓̀̈͑y̵̤̜͗͊ ̷̡̫̱̝͋h̷̡̝̼͝ā̷̡̿̔͝v̴̡̜̠́ë̵̺́ ̶̰̼̂̕t̴̛̪͚r̷̢̤̝̝͒i̸̡̱̝̊́̚̚ē̶͇͚̰̂d̵̪̩̺͎́ͅ?̸̱̲̭̬̭̅͆̄̽̀
Uther's too blind to see.Gil saw it. He said I could do great things, didn't he? Not good. Great. Great things... ċ̸̨̛̮͊̃̄ͅa̵̝̼̖̐n̶̘̂ ̷̢̩͇̂́͆b̸̺̜̤̠̻͌͋͊̓̓é̶̝͉̕ͅͅ ̴̳͌̈̎̓͊s̸̘͍̹̃͆͊̕̕o̶̡̟̼̤͐̿͂ ̴̢͑͌͒̔t̸̖̣͎͌e̶̮̣͊͋̓̃r̷͉͒r̵̝̗͆i̷̧̽̃b̵͓̯̞̉l̶̡̅͐ͅe̵̛̛̬̽̐̋.̶̜̄̎̒̑͝
And it would be so much easier.So much.
An army of the damned at my call.
What's the point?An army of the damned at my call.
Our enemies will do it without hesitation.
They h̵͇̓̋̂a̴̛̪̜̿͊͝v̵̝̼̺̘̘̈̈̐̈̈́e̸̱͇͎͒͋͜ done it.
What would they do, I wonder.They h̵͇̓̋̂a̴̛̪̜̿͊͝v̵̝̼̺̘̘̈̈̐̈̈́e̸̱͇͎͒͋͜ done it.
If their people's flesh m̸̫̽e̸̛͙͕̬͊̿̌̍l̸̨̛̗̖̼̲̑t̷̨͇͘ę̶̛̟̦̰͋͋̚d̶̛͓̊̆͌̃ͅ. If they c̴̖̰͛̔͝h̶̯̼̜͋̅̄̂o̶̩̩̞̯͉̔͗͂k̴͙͓̦̈́̀̚͜e̷͕͝d̵͓͐̾̿̏ on their dying families. If they ḅ̵̛̰̺̞̀̅͆u̷̹̺͑̚͝r̷̹͊n̶̛̘̗̩̽̌̆͘e̴̜͂̕d̶̙̩̋. If their dead haunted their nightmares and became the s̶̡̲̻̥̟̑ǎ̴͙̍͒̒ṁ̷͎̼e̷̠̿ ̵̛̼̜̒͑͌s̷̫͕͖͐ḻ̴̃̉͐̇ȃ̶̼̒̍̽v̴̟͑͒̀̏ẹ̷̩́͗̀͊̚ͅs̸̺̜̟̟͍͐̅̓̾͠ ̸͓͇͖̪̓̇t̵̡̓̿͝h̶̡̩̥̜̙̏̂̕ë̶͍͍̻̝y̴̼̰̰͓̙̐͋͠'̷̘̘̻̦̋̃̍v̸̙͂̈̋̈̕ě̴̡̬̗̜̺ ̶͇̦͕̰̬͌m̸̦̈́̓̊͑̏ạ̶̛̜͍̦͂d̸̡̯̬̹̏̑̍e̵̥̥̤̤͐̈͜ ̴̨̭̭̏͒́͝u̸̦͔͗͋s̷̡͉̻̘͚̿̍̔.̷̢̛̬̙̜̇̎
I'm already dead anyway.
They wouldn't even need to grieve... a second time.
They wouldn't even need to grieve... a second time.
A sharp pain pierced the dull throbbing in her arm as Vel's nails dug securely into her flesh. She looked down at it, her thoughts momentarily interrupted as she forced her death hold to release--revealing the dark indents she had left in her pale skin. Other dark marks--remnants of puncture wounds that had been mostly healed by magic--connected the trail of her veins like towns on a map.
A humorless, dark chuff escaped her lips as the faint light in her eyes traced the healing wounds.
What good am I doing in the end?
What am I trying to prove?
It's not like it changes what happened.
Countless lives lost.Because people relied on me.
And I failed.
I̴̗̼̻̿͑͝ ̵̫͚͕̽̈́̈̂f̵̛̤̦̿̄͗̓a̷̮̹̻̓i̷̖͍̹͐̋̈́͆̿ḽ̶̰̥̳͊e̴͕͋͠d̵̤̏̈́͌
F̶̨͕̹͌̅ą̷̗͔͙̫̍̾͆̏į̴̍̐͊̃̀l̴̢̤̺̍ȅ̶͇͕͎͚͠d̷̥̯̓F̷̯̺̰̗͌a̵̖̯̋͊̈́̊͝ī̷͉̳̞͆̽̊͘l̸͕̗̈́̽̒͌e̵̞̽d̶̨̥̑͐̇F̷̫͈̊̉̍̄Ȧ̷̛͈̜͔̮͓̈́͆̈́I̵͉͕̤͗̔͜L̴̩̓̿̽͛Ẹ̸͇̿̑̾͂D̷̹͕͎̯̰̏F̸̡̢̦̠̿Ã̵͚̀̉̿̅I̸͕̘͖͗͝͝ͅͅL̸͈̞̘̟̆̊E̶͍̽D̴̪͓͕͎̈̅̌̀̃F̸̤̜͑̈́ͅA̶̦̋I̴̡̥͚͔̘̽͐̏L̸͓̥͕̙̈́̇̑͝Ẽ̴̝͙͈̈́̓D̵̬̞̬͚͊̉̍̕ͅF̸͙̺͝Ā̶̫Ī̷̘̣͈̩͆L̴̪͕̻̍͆̕E̷̦̮̜̦̜͗̔͒̒͝D̶̠͙̻͐̀͑F̴̺̙̺͓̿͊͂̈̕Ą̵̢̩̿̇̈I̸̗̍̿͜L̶͙̘̓̀͒E̸̝̲̲̼͑D̸̼͎̊̿̓̕F̷̧̼͕̯̋ͅA̴̤̱̠̞͑̍Ỉ̶̡̨͕͖̘̈́̀L̵̞̇̈̽̂̕È̷͙͕͈̖̏͂̐́͜Ḏ̶̙̟̔͑F̵̨̮̭̖̅̄̀͒ͅÅ̸̠̺̊͐I̴͚͚͇̲̊͌͐̈́̕Ḽ̷͂͑͝Ȅ̸̡͇͇̯͖̅D̸̘͕̓̓̀F̶̹̠̔Å̶̠̰̂͝Ḯ̵̹͍̌L̶̹̑͛Ẹ̸̢̰̩̞̅D̴̼̤̹͕͒F̷̪̯̑͒A̶̗̞̒͒͑́̄I̷͈̜̖͎͇̊̀̓͗͝L̸̜̝̈͐̈́̅Ȅ̸͍̓͜D̷͛́͜͠F̶͇̝͗Ą̷̨͍̠̰̓̂͗Í̸̜͚̏͂̇̍L̵̩̄̉̇͘E̸̡̜̳͕̦͗͌̈́̓͘D̶̲̏͂F̵͔̣͗̔͊͠A̶̞̯͔̣̓̀͒Ĭ̴͓̥̰̫͝L̴̺͙̭̯̍̋̎̎͊Ȩ̷̖͍͉̳̓Ḑ̶̌͆̆F̶̱̼̑̾A̶̙͉̮͐͐Ǐ̷̢̛̳̏̆͆L̴̨̛̖͉͍̑͌͘È̶̮̊̈̍D̷͙̖͈̗̃̆̄̚͠F̶͙̟͒̽Ȃ̶̠͆̉͘͝I̶̧̫̽̈́͗̔̾Ḽ̶̜̻̺͍̈́È̶̙͗͝D̶̼͒̈F̶͖͎̫̣͖͌̄̽À̸̹̰̱̓͘͜I̶͇͖͈͒͗Ḽ̵̲̋̿E̶̝̳͉̥͂̿̏̚͜D̸͉́̈́͝
Wouldn't it be...I̴̗̼̻̿͑͝ ̵̫͚͕̽̈́̈̂f̵̛̤̦̿̄͗̓a̷̮̹̻̓i̷̖͍̹͐̋̈́͆̿ḽ̶̰̥̳͊e̴͕͋͠d̵̤̏̈́͌
F̶̨͕̹͌̅ą̷̗͔͙̫̍̾͆̏į̴̍̐͊̃̀l̴̢̤̺̍ȅ̶͇͕͎͚͠d̷̥̯̓F̷̯̺̰̗͌a̵̖̯̋͊̈́̊͝ī̷͉̳̞͆̽̊͘l̸͕̗̈́̽̒͌e̵̞̽d̶̨̥̑͐̇F̷̫͈̊̉̍̄Ȧ̷̛͈̜͔̮͓̈́͆̈́I̵͉͕̤͗̔͜L̴̩̓̿̽͛Ẹ̸͇̿̑̾͂D̷̹͕͎̯̰̏F̸̡̢̦̠̿Ã̵͚̀̉̿̅I̸͕̘͖͗͝͝ͅͅL̸͈̞̘̟̆̊E̶͍̽D̴̪͓͕͎̈̅̌̀̃F̸̤̜͑̈́ͅA̶̦̋I̴̡̥͚͔̘̽͐̏L̸͓̥͕̙̈́̇̑͝Ẽ̴̝͙͈̈́̓D̵̬̞̬͚͊̉̍̕ͅF̸͙̺͝Ā̶̫Ī̷̘̣͈̩͆L̴̪͕̻̍͆̕E̷̦̮̜̦̜͗̔͒̒͝D̶̠͙̻͐̀͑F̴̺̙̺͓̿͊͂̈̕Ą̵̢̩̿̇̈I̸̗̍̿͜L̶͙̘̓̀͒E̸̝̲̲̼͑D̸̼͎̊̿̓̕F̷̧̼͕̯̋ͅA̴̤̱̠̞͑̍Ỉ̶̡̨͕͖̘̈́̀L̵̞̇̈̽̂̕È̷͙͕͈̖̏͂̐́͜Ḏ̶̙̟̔͑F̵̨̮̭̖̅̄̀͒ͅÅ̸̠̺̊͐I̴͚͚͇̲̊͌͐̈́̕Ḽ̷͂͑͝Ȅ̸̡͇͇̯͖̅D̸̘͕̓̓̀F̶̹̠̔Å̶̠̰̂͝Ḯ̵̹͍̌L̶̹̑͛Ẹ̸̢̰̩̞̅D̴̼̤̹͕͒F̷̪̯̑͒A̶̗̞̒͒͑́̄I̷͈̜̖͎͇̊̀̓͗͝L̸̜̝̈͐̈́̅Ȅ̸͍̓͜D̷͛́͜͠F̶͇̝͗Ą̷̨͍̠̰̓̂͗Í̸̜͚̏͂̇̍L̵̩̄̉̇͘E̸̡̜̳͕̦͗͌̈́̓͘D̶̲̏͂F̵͔̣͗̔͊͠A̶̞̯͔̣̓̀͒Ĭ̴͓̥̰̫͝L̴̺͙̭̯̍̋̎̎͊Ȩ̷̖͍͉̳̓Ḑ̶̌͆̆F̶̱̼̑̾A̶̙͉̮͐͐Ǐ̷̢̛̳̏̆͆L̴̨̛̖͉͍̑͌͘È̶̮̊̈̍D̷͙̖͈̗̃̆̄̚͠F̶͙̟͒̽Ȃ̶̠͆̉͘͝I̶̧̫̽̈́͗̔̾Ḽ̶̜̻̺͍̈́È̶̙͗͝D̶̼͒̈F̶͖͎̫̣͖͌̄̽À̸̹̰̱̓͘͜I̶͇͖͈͒͗Ḽ̵̲̋̿E̶̝̳͉̥͂̿̏̚͜D̸͉́̈́͝
...so much better...
...If they just couldn't make that mistake a second time?
I̵̢͔̣̻̋̐͛́̕'̴̧̀̔̚͝m̸̢͈͙̤̯͋̕ ̶̻̞̙̟̈â̸͕̙̟l̶̘̥̥̄ṙ̸̹̋͒e̷̮̮̚ả̷͈̋̉ḓ̸͎̠̭̫̍́́ý̶̧̹̩̖̫̾̈͗̈ ̵̨̗͙͊ḓ̵̜̹̉̈ė̵̻͔̟̓͝ͅà̷̯́̉͗̈́d̷̛͍͂̈́̆͝.̸̫̼͍͚̈́ͅ
Just because I can't move on... doesn't mean they won't.
Maybe some of them have already?
Wasn't ann'da the one that asked what I would do if I was wrong?M̴͙̐̌͊̎ì̴̲̏̈́ǹ̴̬̝͐̅n̴͎͈̟̭̳̓'̶̛̰̀̐͝d̷̢̙̱͊͛ą̴͓̻̪̗̓́ ̶̻͎̥̭̒̓͌͐͠ṁ̸̥̈͝a̸̡͇̖̓̾̑y̵̭̫̏͛̓̿͘ ̵̖̓̀a̷̧̲̯̤̒̌̄̽̏ļ̶͚̰̙̃̽̉͠͝r̷͖̫̗͌̏́͋ê̶̱͍̞̩̾͘͜a̴͈̫͕͗̃͘d̶͉̖̈͂̏y̷̗̼̯͇̋͆̃ ̶͈̭͙͖͍̐͐͝b̴͖̞̊͘ẻ̴̥ ̷̢͙͓͋̊̀̚ğ̵̻̲̪̌̑͝ǫ̴̺̝͎̞̿ň̸̨͕̯̘̣̃̈́̉e̶̟̥͙͖͈͑͂̌.̷̤͍͐̌͝
How hilarious... Practical, objective, ambitious Velameestra Windrunner.
Chasing goals that might as well be fantasies.
Her nails dug into place again, piercing her skin like nails as she raked them along her arm, gripping herself tightly as she pulled her knees impossibly closer to her chest.
Why should I...
.̵.̷.̴k̶e̴e̵p̸ ̷f̵i̷g̴h̷t̴i̵n̶g̸.̵.̴.̵?̶
T̴h̷e̵r̸e̴'̷s̴ ̷n̵o̶t̷h̸i̸n̵g̷ ̷t̸o̴ ̶l̷o̶s̵e̸ ̷i̶f̵ ̵y̸o̵u̵'̵r̶e̷ ̶d̸e̴a̸d̸.̷
The woven bracelet on her wrist slid to her fingers, the polished stones on it glinting in what minimal light there was in the room. Instinctively, Vel's eyes went to it, and she felt her heart stop as if it had been caught in a vice.
"It's dark, Vel. What do I do? What can I do? All my life, the Light was with me... but I'm alone now. And I'm so scared."
Arator...
...I'm so sorry...
...I'm not there...
I wish I could have responded.I failed you too, didn't I?
Nothing we do can ever undo what you're going through.What everyone is going through.
Her fingertips illuminated as she started to call upon her innate stores of magic, casting light on the deep scratches she had left in her forearm, and her eyes flickered to the tattoo that was etched into her wrist beneath the bracelet.
"Vel, there are some awful rumors going around. Come on, kiddo. You promised you'd come back."
The magic faded.
"I did... didn't I...?" Her voice cracked as she whispered into the silence, her eyes gliding over the dark corners of the room. Arkha'din hissed softly, having been drawn out by the momentary flare of magic. She tasted the tang of blood in her mouth as her lips moved and released the pressure her teeth had been putting on them.
The elf took a shaky breath, her body shuddering as she lowered her arm back to its place where it encircled her knees.
...but I can't make it better if I'm gone.
Her eyes flickered to the doorway of the study. Alleria hadn't wanted to leave that night. She was certain that her aunt had been the one who encouraged Malande's abnormally frequent check-ins. If there was anything that had become evident, it was that the eldest Windrunner sister--for all her stoicness--likely felt as alone and scared as her son.
Vampyric or not. They were still people.
There were ways to show that.
Vel's eyes searched the cracks in the floor. Her heart still felt like it was in a vice, her nails once more digging into the back of her wrist as a means to ground herself against the permeating chill in her soul.
...if I'm doomed to fail...
I̫̫͔'̺̘̪l̦̺͙l̢̝͕ f̫̼̠i͍̪g̡̻h̢͎t͇͇͚ i͍͇͎t͎̘͕ e̫͔̻v̢̠͖e̼̺r͕͚̪y̟̟̻ s̫̫͚t̢͚̝e̺̦̼p̡͕̺ o̠̝͜f͉͉̞ t̘̝͜h̡̟͉e͓̘͇ w͕̼͓a͇̘͉y͕̠̞.̡̡͎