#false martyr

Temple life -

Since childhood she has spent most of her days alone and most of her nights wide awake, watching the moon and stars, wondering if sleep would come with no frightening premonitions of death and rot. Oh, how she loved sleep—a warm nights rest away from the achinhly boring hours daybreak would bring. She would see followers periodically; looking at her for ‘enlightenment’ with hopeful adoring eyes. Only to watch said eyes darken as they lose themselves to a maddening sleep. Faces calm like the stillness of water right before a downpour, blissful in sleep. Worshipped for her gifts and praised for deeds that she has no memory of doing—but, who was she to deny their claims? When she herself has seen the power stored in her hands? In a few short moments their still faces would wake, expression contorting as they cry out insanity. She was told those people rejected true enlightenment in the end, unable to put their full faith in her and yielded to the consequences. Consequences that appeared as hysteria. An unending downward spiral of fragmented thoughts and desires—a thirst that was unqenchable. The beginning of a broken mind caused by her hand. She was given no reason to disbelieve them, simply having to take their word as the victims were dragged away never to be seen again. Then there she was; alone with her premonitions and only herself as company. A life filled with divine blessing.

Those nights she lie awake she swears she can still hear the manic laughter of the misguided followers; echoing in her skull. Those same voices urging her to ‘enlighten’ another and fill the world with her slumbering truth. Accepting them as nothing but hallucinations provided by her dreams and premonitions, she was surprised to find herself awaking in dark empty corridors filthy covered hands. Hidden Closets with bloody fingernails. In the fields outside the temple, bathed in sweat. Perhaps the voices have lead her to sleep walk? Who knows what’s she could be doing at night while everyone sleeps—she’ll need to lock her doors. The mage was right; this is a curse. A maddening force of evil resting at her fingertips.

Eridia -

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little surprised by the hospitality she’s received from a few of the locals of Eridia. From being nursed back to life, free of charge by Kuras; to being given free room and board at the welcoming hand of Leander. It filled her with hope. Her curse situation however… has seemed to worsen since she’s stepped foot in the city. The Senobium is far out of her reach; further than she expected. Lock behind heavy intricate bars and dense stone walls, gaurded by less than sympathetic clerics, not even giving her the time of day. She was at a loss.

The chattering of locals bouncing of towering building was nauseating for her. Seeing contorted manic faces out of the corner of eye— was it her premonitions? Maybe she’s dreaming again? No. It’s just the nausea—Paranoia, even.

Leander is adamant about helping her, but the more and more he reassures her the less she likes the idea. Not becuase of her distrust in him; which she does. But becuase of the distrust she has in herself. He’s so intoxicating. She drawn to him like a moth to flame. Lost in thoughts of warm embraces and manic laughter. She catches herself visioning the way his face would contort if she got too close. Too comfortable. It was like another part of her was plotting his introduction to madness. She finds herself clawing at her own door at night; like she was desperate to get somewhere. Voices urging her to seek out that flame further in the inn. Standing in the dark with nothing but the moonlight to luminate her surroundings she feels bewildered—anxious. Perhaps Kuras has some sort of serum that would toss into a deeper sleep? Doesn’t matter, she has to accept Leander’s help. Her curse only gets worse and she has no other options.

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