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BRINZTOK THE IMPATIENT | ([personal profile] wildgrowth) wrote2013-05-19 04:28 am
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Last year, Brin was kidnapped in Orgrimmar. She'd caught the attention of a warlock named Aurthull. He proceeded to break her. As a result of several weeks of calculated torture, Brin was stripped of all her ability to call on the loa and all her druidic powers. Instead, she was given control over shadows, like many twisted priests, with a belief in something that can be equated to 'Mother Darkness'.

This next bit is about her interactions with her best friend and fiancé post-Stockholm torture. It's only a brief glimpse into the way she thought and acted, but it's the springboard to where she is now.

--

This land is full of darkness. Even in the burning sun, I can feel it-- I feel it in my core. And for a time, it made me happy. It filled the emptiness. It made me free, when no one freed me. I was content with the life of the negative, the shadows in the trees, the absence of starlight.

And then I saw him.

It all ceased to make sense when I found my fiance. He looked like he hadn't aged since the day I met him. To my heart it had been lifetimes. He was strong, all corded muscle beneath the leathers. He still wore the feathers and beads I'd braided into his long sable hair. All the warm days so painfully ripped from my chest returned in a rush, but it was not a joyous reunion for me. It was agonizing and surreal. He touched me, and I shivered like a cold thing. I shied away from his light, having forgotten my own, and retreated into a dark and damp place.

Eventually, possessed by some mad curiosity, I appeared before him again. I smiled and tried to hang onto the peace that I was taught. I did not have peace before, and that confused him. I was graceful and deadly in ways he had not anticipated. I cleansed the earth before me without a single regret, but he didn't run from me, and he never looked away. Just as in our previous life together, I was the one to look away first.

I was a monster. Occasionally I was reminded of the fact. It stung, having been crafted into such a perfect shape only to realize it was the wrong one. It suited me, I thought, and so I stubbornly resisted to change. When I finally grew tired of this new voice berating myself, I left him again, and spent some time among the shadows.

Though I disappeared for weeks at a time, my lover never once left me. When I touched him, he returned the affection, but he never asked for anything beyond what was given. He simply waited, patient as always, for me to return to him. And I did.

One night, I crawled to his camp dripping wet and snarling. I was unable to heal my own wounds and ready to flee, yet he approached me with the same familiarity as always. He made me a place to sit, shared his ale, and bandaged my wounds in silence. I was a beast and a monster, uncontrollable and terrible, worse than the wild child he met in a tavern all those years ago. But he never looked away, never flinched.

It was infuriating. I was humiliated, my cool demeanor tossed to the wind in favor of the one thing I could not change. I refused to accept it, spitting in the face of my teachings. How could anyone treat me the same? I was an entirely different person, worthy of a new name. I had died, once. I knew true pain and I knew what lay beyond it. I was no longer afraid of anything.

Except this.

For some reason, this figure from my old life refused to budge. He refused to change even though I had, and it bothered me beyond measure. I wanted to destroy him. If I erased all traces of him from the world, then my old self would die with him, and I could live free of guilt or anything else. To that end, I acquiesced to an offer of shelter, and crawled into the bed beside him.

I watched his chest rise and fall until he found the shallow, slow breathing of deep sleep. The darkness around us was so thick I could taste it. It called me beyond the tent-flap, beckoning me to join the shadows, to play and make mischief, to disappear. But I remained, sternly observing the one light in the vicinity: the tiny, flickering life before me. Shadows gathered around my hand without any real effort. I could poison his dreams if I wanted. I could reach into his body and claw out his heart. A million other delicious deaths raced through my mind as I leaned over him, so close that I could feel his breath between us. As my hand neared his chest, his body heat and aura confirmed the proximity.

He snorted. I hesitated. Gold eyes opened in the darkness, unfocused. The light was low, but he could see the raging darkness licking up my arm like flames. He didn't panic or push me off. He simply watched. After what felt like eons, he asked calmly, "What are you doing?"

The truth was that I had no idea. I had crawled in here with the intention to kill him, but something stopped me. I thought I had accepted that part of me and grown beyond it. Things like affection and love were small, temporary things. There was no true light, only the peace of night. The peace that never left, unless...

I couldn't think of it, not while he lay there and waited for whatever death I couldn't give him. I sat on my calves. The darkness dissipated from my hand, and it skittered away from me as if burned. I felt empty, and tired. The singular presence I had with me since my rebirth no longer accepted me. Or perhaps I no longer accepted it. My mastery over shadow was beyond me now, fading fast. In that tent with my former lover, I was unutterably alone.

I screamed. I screamed until my voice went hoarse. I screamed until tears flowed, and when they stopped I was still shrieking and clawing at my clothes, my hair and skin. Every time my fiance tried to console me, I pushed him away with more strength than I was allowed. I screamed until I retched. My mouth tasted like iron. I had no voice, so I wept silently until exhaustion rocked me to sleep.

It was noon when I awoke. Confused and disoriented, I found all my wounds bandaged once again. The events of the night before made me recoil inwardly, and I turned to go back to sleep, as if that would delay the problems a while longer. My fiance smiled down at me, patient as always, and offered a mug of tea.

I stared at him.

"The ale's gone," he noted. "So it's tea until we reach the next town." He was conversational, not exactly jovial but not unfriendly. I tried to kill him the night before. I was pretty sure I'd thrown up in his bed, yet he was the same as always. "You still speak Orcish, right?"

I hadn't said a word to him in months; our recent time together had been spent in silence. My memory fuzzed at the edges when I tried to recall our last conversation. Those words belonged to a woman who no longer existed. It was trivial, that much was sure. But if this was death and loneliness, then why did the tea feel so warm in my hands? Why did my throat sting? Months ago, I had been so sure that darkness was the end and beginning of everything. Now I had nothing to fall back into, and yet I still lived.

Something swelled within me, terrifying as all forgotten emotions are. I choked, coughed, and washed down my embarrassment with tea. My fiance watched me with faintly quirked lips, as if he couldn't decide whether to be concerned or amused. I waited a minute, and then I tried again.

"Braai?"

"Yeah, Brin?"

That was my nickname. It settled around my ears and shoulders like an old coat, spreading its warmth. It had been a long time since I heard it. Faintly, I realized my fingers were trembling around the mug.

"Take me home."