#dnd drabble

Oh, how foolish he had been. But the sight that met his reptile eyes as he bolted into the tent... He should have figured something like this could have been going on, it was a quiet night after all. Enough time to seek some company. He could have handled the commander alone quite well, but two of the best "druid-hunters" in one swoop was too much after all. The chains around his now-elven wrists jingle as he shifts slightly, licking the blood from his lips where it split under a direct hit from a strong fist previously wrapped around something- Well, he should not continue this thought, lest he wanted to be killed instantly.

The two men loom over him, would even if he was standing up. Damn, they are tall. And strong. And they caught him by surprise. It totally wasn't because he was busy watching something- No. He should be thinking of a way to escape, right now. Warn his family, break off the attack, the commanders now very alert that something's in the bushes. If they hadn't been for the entire time. It's hard to tell, truly. The only sure thing is that they will try to make him talk about things he'd rather not share.

He grins at the two of them, weakly, still feeling the sting of the punches. He should be glad, he supposes, they didn't have their weapons at the ready. The dangerous ones at least. The druid-killers are dangerous even without sharp swords and fast arrows. He really should have known better. He should have taken Mischa's advice.

The silence stretches in the tent, nobody willing to crack first. He supposes the smile won't last much longer so it might as well be him but, spite. He'll hold out for a bit just to irk these two bastards. Serves them right, tying him up... It's not even a good way of tying somebody up, it actually hurts quite a bit. If he could just reach-

"Well, I can't say I'm very surprised, to have a snake in our midst," A growling, deep voice, the smirk on his lips clearly audible, hands crossed in front of a truly impressive chest- No.

"But, commander, clearly I'm not a snake?" He's still grinning as the scowl deepens, the other druid-killer hiding a snicker. "See, I was under the impression snakes have scales and no other limbs? Yet here I am, no scales and my arms are tied up so I do have limbs?"

Well, he could try to get in even more trouble than he already is, but that comment clearly was built for him to retort in such a manner. At least he seems to be amusing the other one.

The fist in his gut tells him how deeply unimpressed the taller (and broader) one is. All these muscles really aren't just for show. Damn. He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the nausea bubbling up.

"Well that wasn't very nice," He's able to croak out, barely. What a good impression he's making. Oh well.

"Well, sneaking into the tent and watching also wasn't very nice." The other druid-killer smiles softly, putting a hand on the brick's arm. He does not think it's because Arrows wants to stop Brick from hitting him, more likely just a reminder to take it slow. Fucking great.

"Now, what brings a snake in our tent in the middle of the night, hm?" Arrows' smile is sharp, dangerous. Not to be underestimated. Handsome fellows, both of them, but-NO.

"I already told you, no snake. Also, I don't see why you stopped? You seemed really into it," His sly smirk widens as Brick exhales and Arrows' smile freezes slightly but apparently, Arrows has better control and the smile gets all sharp again.

Damn.

"You can only lie so often, Druid. What's your name?" Arrows seems to stare right into his soul. If he’d just stop doing that, he could-

"Ah, little old me? What are your names, first? Seems a bit rude to tie me up and not even announce yourselves, gentlemen." He knows of course. No druid with a shred of common sense does not know Lieutenant Talbot and Thomas Mayne, the two men responsible for a lot of their casualties. They seem to realize it too if their unimpressed glares are an indication. Well, spite apparently only gets one so far. He sighs, deeply. It's mocking and they all know it, but he already has the shit-eating grin to match it so he does not care.

"Cassian Kymil Reluraun Gwythian Tual Audren Caurus Phishana Zyndryth Arther Raymond Caiben Mallos Uilben Raenor. Ignore the Raymond, it's my great-great-great-grandfather who has no sense of naming who got that one in." He sees Arrows slightly touch his forehead about four names in and Brick is totally losing his calm.

Perfect. Just a bit more.

"Well, Cassian, what’s your business here?" Arrows isn't as calm already, the tone of his voice shows just that little bit of strain he must be feeling.

"Ah, mine? Nothing! The snake though, that one's naughty and wanted to watch. Not me!" No, not at all! “So you see, it's totally unnecessary to even tie me up. The snake is long gone the naughty thing. I'm innocent!" Well, that was played up but it's worth for the punch that dislodges the secret knife he'd hidden before he was searched and tied up. Falling straight between his fingers, he grabs it and starts moving his arms slightly, hiding it between shifts of apparent discomfort.

"Quit the crap, druid. Tell us, what are you planning?" Brick is not calm at all. Luckily the guard on the outside must be sleeping deeply by now, else he would have woken up by the yelling.

He grimaces, "Ah, no crap? I went just before-" The hit that disrupts him is definitely deserved this time but it still hurts. No matter. More movement. They took his focus but he still has a knife, maybe he can escape-

"Quit talking shit, little elf. When is the attack happening?"

THE ATTACK! Ah, how much time did he spend inside already? His signal didn't come but... They know he's prone to forgetting it, they might just have decided to go ahead anyway. Damn.

His internal cursing must have shown on his face, for the two men slowly lean in closer, menacing. Truly impressive, they- No.

"Fuck you," He mumbles between clenched teeth, breathing hard to hide the frantic sawing. Just a bit, just a bit more- There.

Brick laughs, humorless and cold. He's aware he does not have very much time left, the way he riled him up. Arrows might interfere but he doubts Arrows wants to throw himself between Brick and himself just to get that bit more information he would not give. They're both pressed for time, he because he wants to stop the attack and the druid-hunters because they want to know when the attack is coming. Any second now...

Brick leans in and it's the closest thing he'll get so he'll take it. Ripping the threads that were his ropes, lunging at Brick with the knife brandished, almost snarling, hitting-

Brick's thigh is all he gets before sharp pain blossoms on his side.

The guard woke up after all. He'd also managed to gather enough motion to impale his side, if the tip sticking out of him is any indication. It takes a few seconds until the full brunt of the pain registers and his legs give out like seaweed on dry land. He clutches the knife and Brick's pant seam because he needs something to ground him. The guard grunts as he pulls out the sword, asking after his leaders, not that the words register in his mind. He does see Arrows' frown and Brick's cold sneer as Brick pries his fingers of the knife and his pants, letting him slide down slowly without the support.

"Nasty bite, little snake," Brick chuckles as he throws away the knife, not that he has any possibility of getting away now. Damn it then. He hopes at least the others could get away.

His hopes get dashed as the cries emerge, the rushing of wind beneath wings and the trample of sticks and stones beneath claws. They still came. At least he did provide some distraction if nothing else.

"Fuck you..." He manages to grit out, fingers clenching at the wound. "I hope the ground you rot in once you meet your deserved end will be forgotten even by your ghosts."

Brick sneers, gripping his chin.

"Well, if that day comes I'm sure your ghost will be right beside ours, won't it, little snake?"

"Oh Great Tree, take on my bones-" He is interrupted by the guard, screaming as claws bury in his throat.

The tiger barging into the tent is followed by two bears and he smiles weakly. Not alone after all. He feels his head being cradled as the fight in the background fades away, only feeling the hands, marked by age and hard work yet still incredibly nice to the touch. Feels the shaking fingers wiping his hair from his face where it had messily fallen. Hears the voice whisper the last of the prayer as he himself can't manage to move his lips and tongue.

1a "Crystal"

He's perched carefully on a branch, a little unstable but able to balance himself after a moment. "C'mere~" The elf holds out his hand to the cat on the branch opposite of him, trying to coax it over to him. "Please~?" He needs the ring--the crystal in the ring that was tied to the cat's collar. Unfortunately, the branch creaks and begins to crack, the cat hops away to another branch and Azkaas has to quickly grab the branch above to keep from falling with the branch he had been standing on.

28a "Crispy"

What an ugly little creature, Azkaas can't help but sneer at it with disgust. "Mephits," the tiefling Ranger clasps his shoulder and yanks him back just as the flying little goblin explodes. "Watch out for that--they explode as they die," She smiles some as she shares the lesson of the encounter with the young elf.

24a "Extinct"

"They all have been hunted?" He asks, looking over the image in the book before him. "Yes, they're extinct…" The human druid states in a solemn tone of voice. "…That sucks…" Azkaas isn't trying to come off as crass, but it's lost on his druid mentor.

31a "Risk"

Could he make it? The sound of voices behind him tells him he has no choice but to try. Azkaas goes to leap, but trips before his feet can get off the ground. The elf stumbles and rolls down the hill into the river at the bottom. Absolute fail. And he's caught by the dwarven man that had been chasing him after the young elf stole some food from his stall.

11a "Sour"

He reaches out and grabs the creepy crawly, curious. He wanted to put it in his mouth, but a small voice in the back of his head wards off the thought. Before he can debate his impulse further, the beetle begins to crawl over his hand wildly. The small elf begins to scream and panic. He wanted the beetle off, now!

10a "Pick"

He tugged and tugged at the loose skin on his finger with his teeth for a long moment. Of course he was nervous--his mentor had yet to return. She had to be coming back soon, she wouldn't just leave him there! Azkaas tries to not think about it, instead chalking it up to a hunger making him antsy.

20a "Sprout"

From the fire, he takes a piece of charcoal and carefully draws a line over his head on the cave wall. A giddy grin spreads across his face as he turns to look at it. "Nice…Getting taller finally!" He announces. However, Azkaas looks around and the loneliness lies on thick with no one else around in the cave to share his excitement.

26a "Connect"

The fist flies passed his face, and his chest swells with anxiety--And yet, he winds up his own fist. It connects with their jaw, knocking them back but not down. Though having been struck and knocked back, they go in for another swing and miss. Azkaas ducks left and swings his leg up, kicking them in the side and effectively knocking them down with a swift kick.

27a "Spark"

It was then he began to notice the numbness of his fingers, and he knew he needed to get a fire going soon or he won't be doing well by morning. It sparks and sparks, but with wet logs, it'll never start. Tonight will be harsh on Azkaas, but he will learn and grow stronger from it--Just while freezing half to death.

13a "Roof"

"T-Thank y-you," Azkaas manages through chattering teeth. This man--a human--saved him from freezing to death. Peridot green eyes jumped to a small, orange cat looking for affection. Azkaas, despite freezing, reaches out to pet the cat. "Like him? He'll be your friend while under my roof, certainly." The druid said. The young elf smiles, "A-Awesome…H-He's s-soft."

5a "Raven"

He reaches out slowly to the bird, trying to coax it closer with a morsel of food. The bird hops over carefully and gently picks at the food. Azkaas takes the chance to carefully catch the raven with a rag. "Shhh, it's okay," He coos to the squawking bird. "Let me get you fixed up, no more hurt wing." He begins to splint the wing as best he can.

21a "Fuzzy"

Nethtari held her breath, too, as she tried to decide what to do next.

  “Leave her be, Nethtari.” A distracted voice cut her off mid step.

 The little tiefling girl, amber just like her mother, with long white hair and wide amber eyes, looked at her older sister. Amaraxa was tall, with pale white skin and crimson eyes – she had a voluptuous figure and already had a husband.

 “Nana is in there, though…” Nethtari turned to face Amaraxa. Their baby sister, Innana, was on the bed with their mother playing with her toes. She turned her head to look at the toddler and bit at her bottom lip. What if mother forgot about her? What if she got hurt…

 Amaraxa looked unbothered and did not say anything. Nethtari sighed.

 It was a strange house; she had always thought that. Something did not match up between her story books and the way Valxius Silverblight’s manor was. Nethtari had two older sisters and an older brother. She had two younger brothers and a baby sister, yet none of them acted like family. At least not Amaraxa, Orianna and Pollux. “Stop calling me Nethtari, anyway! That’s not my name.”

 Amaraxa sighed, “Whatever, just don’t bother mother.” She left the room. Apparently, Nethtari’s presence had become unbearable.

 -xxx-

  Ever since she had learned about virtue names she had been obsessed with them. She’d met a pretty red tiefling in the market whose name was Thievery, and when she asked her why, the girl just smiled wryly, “Does your kith not take names, girl?” She was asked. “You are what you say you are. Your name is… well… what you want to be.” She chewed on something and looked out across the collection of people. This lower portion of Sigil was where the poor came to do business, her father had had her meet Thievery there to practice pickpocketing. “It’s funny – normally we get urchins around here… you’re evidently not.” Thievery gestured at the simple, yet clean, outfit Nethtari wore.

 But she was stuck on the names thing. “What you want to be?” she blinked. “I have no desires!”

 “Well then make that your name! You are Desire now… til you find out what you want… anyway, kid, see how that man has his coat open?” Thievery chucked her chin forward and grabbed at Nethtari’s chin to set her on the right man. She sucked in a breath and nodded firmly.

 -xxx-

 “Tonight you’ll be attending a party with me in the Lady’s Ward, Nethtari. Wear something finer than normal.”

 The truth of it was the SIlverblights had no reason to be in the Lady’s Ward at all. Her father was a small-time businessman who constantly was running into bad luck. He was a drug dealer at the best of times and a trafficker of men at the worst of it. Valxius smuggled people through the portals of Sigil and delivered them across the Planes for a handsome little fee that he lost gambling, or doing something potently stupid that was similar.

 So their manor was run down and their hearths were not all lit. Amaraxa and Orianna wore fine clothes because they were meant to be his next big tickets, and Pollux had a fine silver sword because he was meant to be winning things at swordplay and from extorting merchants on their supply runs. He had trained each of his children to be excellent at something: Amaraxa was a seductress, Orianna was an expert gambler and pickpocket, Pollux was an expert at torture… Nethtari was simply eager and he found great use in that.

 She had always just wanted to make him happy. She wanted to make mother smile. It never happened, but she kept trying til eventually trying wore her down and cut her spirit out.

 The younger three were well on their way to some sort of skill as well – the only thing that set Nethtari apart was her magical prowess. None of the others had it, her father did not, her mother did not… yet she had come out of the womb on fire and had been causing mishaps all around the house from a very young age. It was hard, she concluded, because there was no one to teach her, and her father found her gifts more of a commodity than anything else…

 She was fifteen by now and she had stopped caring for pleasing father, and her mother was a ghost in her heart. Beloved kept her merry demeanor, had shed her old name and granted herself a new one: one day she would be important, and beloved and she would make the world better than it was. One day she would be Wee Jas’ favourite, she would have friends, and companions, and a true love, and she would be happy. She would help people – she would be everything her father was not. The only thing that kept her there was the fact that this was her family – you were meant to stay with your family and protect them.

 A long while ago she had tried to learn magic that would suit him: stealing faces, convincing people of friendship to only swindle them later, to break their hearts and their trust… but Beloved felt sickly after it.

 “Is it Arkakos?” Beloved asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked over the dress she had been given.

 Her father didn’t look at her as he cast a look out the window out onto the streets. The window was dirty and the luminescent air outside fogged through the wavy, ancient glass. “Father.” Beloved repeated, stepping to catch his face, “You did not.” She hissed.

 The downside to all that fire inside of her had been her temper. She’d never been able to manage it – fiery, passionate, and sometimes downright furious for no damned reason til she could find control of herself… Beloved was sweeter than anything til she was not… but Arkakos Damxikas was very much a reason to be furious. “He kills his wives.” Her musical voice was low and pained as she tried to catch her father’s eye.

 “He is rich. He wont kill you – you’ll do so before he might have a chance.” Arkakos and her father had had a rivalry for years.

 Beloved flinched. “I don’t want to kill him!” She protested, slender fingers grasping at the lapel of her father’s smoking jacket. “I don’t want to kill anyone – he will kill me, father.” She insisted again.

 He slapped her hand away. “You provide nothing to me, so you will marry him and do this for me. Then you will finally be useful.” He snarled at her, fangs bared. His grim, grey face was unaged yet haggard somehow. He just looked like a bastard and Beloved hated him. “Always in the fucking Hive with brigands and dregs – what good do you bring this family, Nethtari?” He grabbed at her hair and dragged her over to his desk, “Your sisters bring in money, your brothers bring in finery… and what do you bring me?”

 “Fire and trouble.” Beloved mocked him, “Maybe so, father, but I sh-shant do this… I can’t… I…” She stared down at the ledgers he kept and all of the deals he had written out.

 “You will do this, or you are forsaken. I shall abandon you if you do not.”

 Beloved’s eyes welled with tears and she exhaled sharply. “Please, father…” He did not care for her, so why did she not leave?

 “Get dressed. We are leaving.” He ignored her in favor of sitting down. Valxius pulled out a ledger that had her name on it and the very long list of debts she had incurred for being his child, as well as the many opportunities she had made him miss.

 She bit at her bottom lip and stood there fists clenched… “F-Fine. Whatever you want, father.” Beloved snarled and turned on her heels. She’d go to Arkakos’ manor, and she would do what he wanted… but then at the end of it all she would twist it someway to make him look the fool. Wee Jas would keep her safe.

 -xxx-

 Arkakos Damxikas was notorious in the Lady’s Ward for his horrid reputation. He killed his wives. He dyed his beard blue. He was called Bluebeard.

 It was not official that he killed his wives, but it was obvious. He would find young women all across the Planes to come to his home and marry him, each with nothing else to live for but marriage, with vast fortunes and no one who would come looking for them. Beloved thought it sad that they were so alone in the world but she found it even sadder that they were like lambs to slaughter in the house of a greedy man who could never be happy. Arkakos as well connected and well appreciated by so many people despite all of the whispers of his malpractice and mistreatment of his many, many wives…

 Beloved would be the twelfth it seemed.

 She wore a red dress – something simple and covered, a robe similar to that which she wore in the Hive. It contrasted with her amber skin and hair, it made her look bright and cheerful even when she was feeling less so.

 “Couldn’t you have worn something more flattering?” Valxius hissed across the carriage from her.

 “This is all I have now. I gave the rest of my tatters away.” She huffed, arms across her chest as she ignored him in favor for looking at the buildings on the road above. “There are sick people here, why should I play your games when there are people who need help?”

 The carriage stopped before Valxius could reply.

 He opened the door and before they stood a large estate made of black stones surrounded by an obsidian gate. It was eerie, tremendous and absolutely horrific to look at. Beloved peeked her head out of the carriage and shook her head. That was her sepulcher…. A footman came out to greet her, his hand extended.

 Valxius nudged her out. “Enjoy yourself. Do not come back without an engagement – I told Arkakos that I would lend him a fine mage – he has need of one. Isn’t that what you are?” He leered at her cruelly as she stumbled across the cobbles.

 “W-What?” Beloved stared back at her father. But he was already gone.

 “Our Lord is so happy to meet you.” The footman said smoothly. “He has been looking for a talented sorceress for some time…” The man’s sallow, sagging skin gave Beloved pause before she sighed and nodded.

 She could not even run now – they were expecting her…

 -xxx-

 Across the table from her sat a rather ugly, pale human man with a blue beard. He was muscular, she supposed, but that was hidden behind a thick velvet suit. He was older, too, than she had imagined… how had he managed to seduce any sort of young woman was beyond her. She had never seen him before, of course, but she had heard of him.

 They were silent for some time. The room felt suffocating, for some reason… like she couldn’t breathe or think properly. Was she just that angry?

 “So… so you are in want for a mage.” Beloved couldn’t stand the silence any longer – she hated not talking. She and the other priestesses could chat for hours and hours about nothing… yet home, and this manor, were full of silence. Arkakos looked up at her. Every time his eyes were on her he was leering, ogling… she was glad she’d worn the robe.

 He sneered, “Yes… yes I am.” Head cocking, he reached down and twisted his finger around the ends of that horrible beard. “I have a few things I need worked on by someone with some magical ability…” She wondered why he had not gone to the guildsward and merely found a mage. Sigil was full of them, after all… except if he was in a similar circle to her fathers’ then she knew he did not trust a damned soul.

 “I see. How can I assist you this evening, Sir Damxikas?” The necklace upon his neck was a warding one. She could not kill him with magic… and his house, she had noticed, was full of wards. He was paranoid. She knew too little of magic to combat that sort of paranoia, or how to dance around those wards.

 “After dinner, lovely thing.” He brought his fork to his mouth and bit at the tines in a fashion that was meant to be seductive. Beloved just felt like she wanted to cry instead.

 -xxx-

 After dinner he brought her to a study. In the center of the study was a large container with chains all around it. The edges of it looked as if they were made of adamantine and mithril, there were sigils along the edges of the metal. She had a bad, sickly feeling when she looked at it. Her eyes narrowed and she glanced up at Arkakos, brow screwed together in confusion. “Is this what you need a mage for?” She asked, pacing towards the container.

 He circled around behind her. “Yes.” His voice was even, and careful as she observed it.

“So tell me what your father has been up to lately.” Arkakos asked her as she observed the rune-work etched into the metal. Something about it seemed off, but she had never been too smart about that sort of thing.

 “Why does it matter? He is a silly fool…” Beloved sighed, crouching to look at the veins of mithril through the box’s joints. She really did not understand it at all. The runes, when she got closer, appeared to be in Infernal… easy enough to read, but the words made no sense.

 “Oh, I do believe it does.” Arkakos was behind her, a hand on her shoulder.

 Beloved wanted to crawl out of her skin. She inhaled sharply and twisted slightly, but turning only allowed him to get closer to her and pin her between himself and the box. He smelled too sweetly of terrible cologne – it was horrible. He smelled of sweetness and blood and she almost gagged.

 His face then peeled off. It PEELED off… revealing the face of a handsome human man. There was still a blue beard, but his dark eyes were behind golden curls, a wide jaw, too large lips… handsome, yet not. He was the fools’ definition of handsome, while Beloved’s gut just churned.  “Even that visage did not make you leave? You truly are your father’s keeper, are you not… a sweet little follower of that wretched man. He sent you to slaughter, little one.” A cruel smile crossed Arkakos’ face as he grabbed her chin.

 “Did your father think that he could secure my fortune with you? What was the order… to kill me?” He laughed as his hand moved down to her throat, clutching around her windpipe as he fiddled with the box on the other side of her. Beloved whined as she struggled against him and tried to get out of his grasp.  “How pathetic! I had heard that you were the weakest of that lot, Nethtari…. But a little abjuration ward… some dreammist in your dinner… a touch of dark leadensteel and you are absolutely powerless, aren’t you?” Behind her the container clicked and she shifted quickly, fire began to seep out of her fingers and onto the floor – but it fell like water: weak and wanton down to the ground, inhibited by everything he had mentioned. Dark leadensteel? What was that?

 “I—” Beloved couldn’t deny that they were her family. He already knew that. He couldn’t understand that she was not one of them… and he was trying to kill her. Maybe for revenge, maybe because a few weeks ago her father had stolen a bunch of slaves meant for Arkakos’ line of trade… maybe because they had always been feuding and for once her father beat him.  Was this it?

 She was just another damned pawn.

 When the container opened, he began to shove her into it. Beloved fought back – fear gave her strength and there was no way she was going to be trapped in a box. What kind of bullshit was that? “Let… Me go…” She bit his hand and tore out his flesh. Her fangs sank deep into his tendons and she pulled her mouth back til it was covered in gore and he yelped. With some freedom of movement, she was able to slip out of the way and swing her hands upward – flames left her fingertips but bounced off the shimmering ward around his neck.

 Arkakos leaped forward and grabbed her by the shoulder. Beloved was swung around and her head back crashing into the side of the box. Dense, and unmovable, her horn cracked into the metal and she screamed for the first time since their struggle began. The pain of it rendered her unmoving as he swung her up into the box, pieces of her shattered horn scattering across the wooden floor as she tried to struggle. The pain… oh gods, she had never felt such pain before.

 He shoved her into the box and shut the lid of it. From within she could hear the soft incantation of a spell and Beloved panicked. Cramped in a tiny, unlit space with no freedom of movement, no clue what was going to happen to her… Beloved began to pound on the walls. It was no use – they were impossible to even make sound through. Whatever the box was truly made of stole every bit of energy in her body… so she wept.

 She was going to die in a fucking box in the middle of a well-known murderer’s house… and it was her father’s doing.

 Maybe if she had been useful… maybe if she had been good at something… maybe if she had been fucking capable it would not have happened. Beloved squeezed her hands into her hair and shakily tried to feel the ragged edges of her broken horn. The pain was far too great and she retracted her hand away instantly from the sensitive broken edges. “A…a…. shit…” She whispered, shakily.

 It was quiet outside, and she wasn’t for sure how long she had been cramped in there. With another shaky whine she tried to push the lid up and nothing happened… and then she resigned herself to hugging herself tightly and crying. “Please… please… someone… Wee Jas… please hear me, please.” She cried, praying to the one source of comfort she had had in her life.

 It could have been hours before she felt a hot blaze between her ribs.

  “Have you given up, child?” Was she dreaming? Beloved squeezed her eyes shut.

 “W-what else can I do? I cannot move…”

 “A prayer… someone would have heard you. And she did. The goddess smiles upon you, little one.”

 Did she? A voice was cool, and calm… like embers in a hearth after a long rainy day. (She had only heard of rain, of course, it never rained in Sigil, for there was no sky and there were no clouds!)

 “You have already saved so many people… it would be a shame for someone to find your bones here, alone.” Beloved gasped.

 “But… I…” She whispered into the darkness.

 “Of course you are worthy. How many of the sick have you brought life and light to?” The voice was almost admonishing her for not seeing that. Beloved had never looked at it that way. It was just something that made her feel better… it was a place that made her feel good, and the red priestesses had treated her with kindness she had never experienced before. She liked helping people, but that did not make her useful, did it? She had been doing it for herself. To make her happy.

 “Two things can be true at once… and don’t you think that doing good things can make you happy? Are you not allowed to indulge in happiness, child?”

 Was she? Beloved trembled. “I… I don’t know…” She replied, truly unknowing.

 “You are.” The voice confirmed.

 There was a click on the other side of the box and slowly the lid began to open. Beloved, feeling woozy and like she was suffocating, scrambled out. She pushed it all the way up and panted as she tried to catch up with her breathing.

 -xxx-

 Beloved ran back to the Silverblight manor as quickly as she could. The cracks in her damaged horn ached viciously as she stumbled through the door. Her mother happened to be there, a half-lucid look in her eye as she shambled towards the kitchen. Beloved ran to her and flung her arms around her. “M-mother! I w-was so scared. I… he was going to kill me!” She cried into the silk dress the woman wore.

 Anigoria’s arms hung at her sides and she looked down at her daughter with a mixture of disgust and confusion. “A… Nethtari?” She looked like she was not sure what to do…but slowly her hands moved and Beloved anticipated that embrace… but it never came. Instead Anigoria brushed her hands against Beloved’s shoulders and pushed her off. There was no strength behind it, for Anigoria had no strength… but it was a veritable blow to the young girl.

 She was her mother’s mirror… and yet her mother looked down at her like she was a stranger.

 “You are a mess… is that blood you’ve gotten on my nice dress?” Anigoria sneered. “Hmph – away with you, pathetic thing.” Beloved stood, wide eyed and horrified as her mother shrugged her off and shooed her away.

 “Gods… I wish you had died when I exhumed you from my body, what a waste…” Her mother sighed and floated away. She fished an orb out of her pocket and brought it to her lips.