Archive for July, 2012

It would have been quite a sight to behold—the cold and calculating Lady Azriah Thelryn, barricaded in her study, with her composure ruined by nothing other than a mere thought. It scalded her cheeks and turned her gut sourly. There was a certain ache in her core that still made her breathing come shallowly, and as she dipped a fine feathered quill in ink, her tremor splattered obsidian dots all over the parchment. A deep breath was drawn in through her nose as she set the tip of the quill to the parchment, and with the scratch of incoherent thoughts recorded tangibly, the breath was released as a long sigh. 

This parchment sees into my very core. I have never been a lady to record my innermost thoughts, but I have found I am left with nothing but these fibres to respond to my touch. It demands truth and I am recoiling at the thought of being left with myself, but I must. There is one thought present on my mind, and it is this: 

Why have I walked myself so nonchalantly into the gate of Hell?

Like an idling adolescent, I am well along the process of dismantling my reputation as the unfeeling mistress in favor of attending to stirrings of the heart. Where is the ice that fills my veins when I sorely need it? More fervently than I vowed to personally ruin the Scourge, I swore that the plague known as love – from infatuation to adoration – would never take me again. Not after I watched it beat my very spirit into submission. For a century I managed to maintain this mantra, never engaging in affairs that lasted beyond a physical connection. How fitting with the ruin of Azeroth, that my personal world, too, should have its own upheaval? Did I think, now, after this time that anything would change; did I think I was exempt from the curse I brought upon myself? In an outlaw with a bounty on his head, I found myself questioning the tenacity of this promise to myself. To feel love for him is yet another lifetime away, but facing myself on this parchment, I am very aware that no other man could spark jealousy to a raging inferno within me, nor could they cross my thoughts so often. 

And yet even he refuses to acknowledge me so. It wrings me inside and out, however much I strive to push it out of my mind. It has become so that I am haunted by the thought of being alone, where in the past I relished it. I swallow my fear, nonetheless, and look on coldly as every lover; every soul who has been with me departs for love of another– or the grave. My own curse. 

Despite the fact that they do not curl their fingers around my core in the manner of my Captain, it is beyond me to ignore the pang of remorse that occupies their absence. All of them leave their own unique imprint upon me, and in recent times it is that of the Spellbreaker whose absence has marked me so. In the fashion of all of the other leavings, I accepted my fate gracefully for want of maintaining my image, even if I felt my ego crumbling in my throat as his words battered my mind. It is never a simple process for me to accept inferiority. 

As the remaining blank space of the parchment glares at me, I am forced to enquire of myself, why, then, should I have expected anything different? – I belong to the Void. 


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