Turmoil

She had been falling apart for a long time now, held together by the will and the love of a man whom some part of her had always known would go to his God. It did not make the hurt at his loss any less, but dealing with it had not come as too great a surprise to her, nor was it as difficult.

She could feel herself crumbling though, around the edges, like a sandcastle that has stood too long without repair. Trickling away, returning to the ground and the sand below it.

The music in her soul, the ever faint, ever present whisper of the haunting song that was with her day or night was becoming too much to bear. Years had passed and with his help, she had been able to function past it, learn to ignore it, protect her delicate sanity but the days of nothing - of having nothing to focus on but the loss and the pain were taking their toll.

She had tread this path before, when she had wandered the wilds, looking for some new place to belong, knowing in her soul - that still longed for and might always long for - the Vallenwood, that another place might only ever offer distraction.

She was shaking again, the tremors had slowly begun to move up from her fingers, her hands, to her body and that was unacceptable. She was not a leaf, to tremble before the wind. She had always been the fire that consumed it.

She felt her breath shake as she closed her eyes and forced herself to find that inner calm, to grasp and hold it. Her lost melody was there, as always, making it nearly impossible and anger quickly rose to smother her control.

She opened her eyes, feeling bereft, lost in a sea of confusion and found herself looking up at the statue of Raije. The hesitation, perhaps, in the thought of 'letting go' was that even in death she would not join her lost husband who had always been set on a different path. No, he was at Necrucifer's side and she...would go nowhere, so torn was she that in her heart, she believed that there would be little more then a void to welcome her when death finally came.

She looked back up at the statue of Raije, the shrine nestled comfortably against Necrucifer's temple, and begged within the chaotic confines of her mind for an answer.

It came quietly, moments later, a memory dredged up from her past, and with a strange sense of relief, she drew her elven blade, dug a soft cloth from a pouch and began the surprisingly simple process of polishing a sword that had never needed it.

Bitter News

The bleak chill that wrapped her heart was unlike most of the emotions she had ever experienced before. It was numbing, painful, if put to small words but she stood where she was and let it in. Denial had never caused her anything but lingering grief and so, she hid none of herself as she let the truth settle in her head. She had no reason to doubt the words of an Elder of Shadow.

She was alone. Again. And with that thought, the curse that she had thought was mere imagination, arose to blacken her very sight. She had warned Reklah though.

'They all fell to death. All but one, who left.'

The world spun around her, the sounds of people talking, of business going on as usual, but there was no comfort to be found in any of it. She opened her eyes, finding herself still standing within Verminasia's Temple, the curious gaze of the priestess watching her closely. She had no idea what emotion, if any, was plastered upon her face but the priestess turned away abruptly when Nymaya met her gaze.

No one spoke to her as she paced away from the Temple, into the streets, trying to decide upon the warring emotions within herself and if any of themwere truly worthy of her. Would Reklah have wanted vengeance? Acceptance? Had his demise been more than it appeared to be? Should she give in to useless hatred for the God's forsaken paladin who had apparently slain him? Did any of these sentiments really do justice to the devotion she had shared with Reklah?

She thought back to the crazed paladin who had torn out his own eye before her and wondered at her choice of words when she had turned to her companion and expressed that she felt the world would be better off with one less sane paladin amongst it.

Noting her hands were shaking, though she couldn't yet feel much more then a thin current of grief and confusion, she curled her fingers into fists and simply strode away from the city, trying to escape the emptiness it seemed to embody - or perhaps it was the emptiness that yawned inside her that she was trying to outrun.

Eye of the Beholder

The cloth sat open before her and upon it was the now dried out eye sitting beneath a pool of dried blood. The contrast of rusty brown against the white of the fabric was not as startling as had been the fresh blood but it was still clear in her mind.

She tried to feel something then. Disgust, horror, pain or remorse but there was nothing. Nothing at all.

'The world could do with one less sane paladin.'

Her own words, whispering back to her from the marshy realm of Abaddon.Unease followed and she was glad for that little bit, though why it was important to her, she couldn't have said.

How could a man cut out his own eye? She found her gaze lifting to glance at the heavens above, and the answer was suddenly quite understandable. Disgust came now, but not for the deed that the insane paladin had done before her eyes. No, it was directed at the heavens and the Gods of Light. Faith - or lack of it - could do horrible things to a person.

Rewrapping the eye, his 'gift' to her, she carefully placed it away and decided that she was going to be a little more careful with her wording around the less than stable of mind.

"Eye of the beholder...indeed." She muttered to herself and proceeded out of the temple and into the streets of Verminasia.