#longveil

It was a simple truth; the cottage just wasn’t what it used to be. Grass ran rampant in the yard, growing as tall as a man. Weeds had conquered the gardens and flowerbeds. The building itself had developed a worrying tilt, with the roof sagging over the back porch. It would survive, for now, but that would need to be fixed eventually. 

Baby steps. One thing at a time. 

You let it come to this?

Melorica shook her head, dispelling the nagging voice. She sighed as she looked over her dreary inheritance. This ragged plot of land bared little resemblance to the vibrant, welcoming abode of her childhood. It reminded her of the gravestones she cared for... or the corpses decaying underneath. A shudder ran down her spine despite the warmth of the day. 

What skeletons am I digging up?

Mel stuttered down the overgrown path, drawn to the shaded slope of the north side. As she passed the gardens, wild nettles grasped at her clothes, tugging and cutting, barring her way forward. They seemed determined to keep her from her destination. She felt the sting of thorns piercing skin, and scarlet pinpoints bled through her clothes.

You mustn’t show them weakness! 

The thought was accompanied by a cold wave of rage. It washed over her mind, drowning out all rational thought. Struggle as she might, the nettles kept their hold, digging further into her skin with every thrash. A sudden ice pick headache struck, and the pain overwhelmed her senses.

“Leave me alone!” Her cry faded into the forest, startling a chorus of birds into flight. The sound of their frightened retreat grounded her, and she felt herself calm. She looked down her body, gasping as the vines shriveled away from her, cowed by the fury of her reproach. The plant withered, turning a pallid gray, and releasing it’s grasp on the girl. 

Mel skirted away from the dying thorns. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, ignoring the stinging gift of the nettles. One breath in, one breath out. Stand up straight, child. In and out. She opened her eyes once more and brushed forward, rounding the corner of the cottage. 

She found the lock first. Rusted from years of exposure, it was an easy enough job to pry open with the aid of her trusty shovel. The cellar door beneath was rotted through, and chunks of moldy wood came loose with the lock. Melorica squatted down, pulling with what might she had. The door fought back, but with a final yank that almost sent her sprawling, she managed to open that portal down into the dank earth. A gasping breath of musty air spewed forth from the cellar.

No tears. 

She clenched her hands into fists and took a deep breath before confronting the gaping maw.

“Not this time.”

The stairs groaned in protest, spitting up years worth of dust with each tentative footstep. She turned around at the foot of the stairs and looked up through the narrow entrance as the shadow of a memory took form above. A gaunt woman, with porcelain skin, dressed in muted black hunched over the threshold. Her body blocked the meager sunlight, casting the cellar into twilight. 

“You cannot afford to know fear.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper, yet reverberated off the earthen walls. “You may come up when you learn not to jump at your own shadow.” A pause. Her expression softened. Melorica could see it through misty eyes. Mother’s moods were oft concealed, but now that mask had fallen. Mel turned her face away, hiding in the comfort of darkness.

“Your father would be so disappointed.” 

The rusty hinges of the cellar door screamed as it slammed shut.

(Thank you so much for the ask @longveil, and so sorry for my very late reply! I hope you enjoy the angst, though ^~^)

A letter, hand-delivered by a dredger serving Baroness Vucrysa, arrived in Sinfall to the attention of one Count Khazdorum. The single page was written in exquisite calligraphy, in a style that - were it recognized - might hint at a hand more accustomed to Thalassian than Common:

Count Khazdorum Stonesplitter Sinfall, Revendreth, The Shadowlands.

I am found.

Should it satisfy the wishes of decorum, you may deliver your reward to the Manor of Baroness Vucrysa, to the attention of the Nightblade Petrov.

Should it satisfy curiousity, I may be found once more in Stormwind.

You are not known to me, nor am I am fully aware of the reason for your interest in my disposition. Take note that the last who accosted me lies in ash in the Ember Ward.

Darkest Regards, Marquess Seraanna Longveil-Morrowsun