Chesspiece

"She had a name ..."

The young woman sat back against the wall, knees drawn to her chest. Her refuge was painted in shadows, here beneath the world. In that dark place, cold and dim, the only light the frail green luminesense of disturbingly slowly churning waters.

"She had a name ..."

Eyes closed, she rapped her head back against the Lordaeron stonework. Somewhere, beyond, there was the rattle and clatter of conversation and commerce, so mundane and yet, for this set of heartbeats, almost a world away and fel surreal, like a smile painted upon a funereal mask.

Beside her, the great crimson felhunter shifted, lifting her head as she caught the hints of mana in the air, somewhere out amongst the canals and bridgework. But then, all it took was a soft, slender hand upon the demons thousand toothed muzzle to say ... this is not the time.

"Moonlight and dark gray storm clouds, Kree, and they knew. They knew, and it didn't even mean a thing. And we, me and you, we played right into their macabre game, their jest. You could see the hint in her tortured eyes, that faint glimmer that the pain would finally end, as we so obliviously offered her that flask of hope. To then watch those eyes darken, her realization of our betrayal some dark mixture of fear and hurt and innocence, and the panic - the last thing she wanted was to die - and knowing that the end of her pain was to be, in truth, her end ..."

White teeth set upon worn rose lips, pressing until they paled. Her crimson hair fell in a silken cascade, rolling over soft Sindorei shoulders as the warlock shook her head.

"I wonder if she had a family, some friend, a great bull out there waiting for her ... someone to live for, some place at the end of her travels to reach, that for her was worth her exile to that grim Apothacary, cut off from her earth-mother, cut off from the sun's light. How could she not, to make it through each dark, lost, forgotten day?

"Did she know they didn't care? Did she know that they took joy in her hurting, like a hunter enjoys the stalking of their prey? Sun's light, Kree ... she was not some faceless, anonymous creature, like a rat in a cage. They knew who she was ..."

Green eyes, they opened, to narrow slits.

"And she was Tauren, Kree. Not Human, not Dwarven, not Gnomish, Dranei or Kaldorei. Tauren, Kree, Tauren.

"They offered her hope ... why should she think different? We are supposed to be allies, we are supposed to be friends, we are supposed to look out for each other ..."

Slowly she stood. Her palms smoothed her robes, shaking out the forsaken dust.

" ... and we walked right into it, just like a pawn on a chessboard. We should have seen it, how ... how could we have been so naive?"

The warlock drew herself straight and tall, a shake of her head almost aristocratic as she set her path.

"Never again, Kree, never again."

One step, then two, and she could not help but stop. Looking over her shoulder, she tried not to shake.

"I hope the fields you walk now are green and scented of spring and forever's sunshine. And that the ones you lived for ... that they will join you there, to once again share steps and clasped hands.

"... but ... but not ... not too soon."

A breath, a pause, a heartbeat in the city of the undead.

"Good night, Thersa Windsong."