#ocustos

Nylusa was surprising relaxed considering what was before her. But in truth she was beyond nervous as one miss placed word would be her death. Her long serpent tail curled and uncurled at the end, much like a cats as she laid on her side. Her upper half leaning against a broken pillar. The side of her hand resting on one of her clawed hands.

“Tis a pity. Forgive my bold words but Azshara was a poor choice as she runs from one master to the next. Seeking whatever would keep her in power. She may be pleased but I am not. I detest this form.” It was true she did not like being a Naga. But it did have it’s advantages. Casting a spell, Nylusa took on the form of her past self. To most, they would think it a simple illusion.

Nylusa was every part Azshara’s equal. But she was only second best compared to her. Less beautiful and powerful. But she had traits the former Night Elf queen did not.

“If only I didn’t answer her summon. I would have died or perhaps be as I am.” Nylusa played with her jewelry. Casting her golden robs down as she did not wish her sadness to be seen. 

     “ - I don’t exactly understand. . .so this KING wants to speak to us ? Not just you ? “

     Nightmares are simple.

     A nightmare is just a dream, after all, and dreams were nothing. (Unless of course they were Emerald.) Less than nothing after death. Zoen did not dream when she indulged in sleep; hers was an empty rest, devoid of substance in any form, nothing but petty rebellion against laws she hadn’t been bound to in years. And even if she did dream, it wouldn’t matter. Nightmares were not real. The horrors and agonies of her mind could not touch her in the clarity of the waking world.

     Which is perhaps why she did not quite believe what she saw.

     She’d never fully appreciated how exceedingly tall the Magus was until she saw how he needed to bend in order to look her mother in the eye as he spoke to her - how her mother still had to crane her neck back, baring her throat to him - and Zoen wanted to bolt, to grab her mother and scream before he could curl his lips back from his fangs and sink his teeth into the flesh -

     And she would have were it not for the shock that kept her mute, the fear certainty that she’d accomplish nothing but look like a fool now and earn the elder’s wrath later. The wounds of the last time she’d displeased him were still a mess of stitched up lacerations and Plague-soaked bandages that she really needed to change as soon as she got home - and surely, surely that disobedience would pale in comparison to this attempt at sabotage.

     "Jaina?”

     She approached. She couldn’t not approach. The convergence of nightmare and reality was too strange, too horrifying a thing for her to not be drawn towards it, despite the roiling urge in her gut to run as far away as possible. (He could call her back anyways.) The clack of Tiris’ claws sounded strange in her ears, echoing too closely and too loudly. Her own voice was wrong; it came from elsewhere, another mouth out in the distance. It sounded like a dream. She hoped it was a dream.