11-13-2012, 12:01 PM
Danothil hovered in his parents' quarters. Images of the night's events flickered before his mind's eye, while his eyes in this world stared out into nothing. The two dim lanterns blinked in the dark room and cast a green sheen over his cheeks, though apart from them there was no light in the room. He glided over to a window and opened it, leaning on the sill with both hands. His lungs sucked greedily of the night air, till he made a face and quickly closed the window as an icy coldness filled his chest, near his heart. Perhaps he didn't feel as well as he'd let on, but his parents were none the wiser. He spent a moment to contemplate whether telling them that the wound, although it was sealed and the bleeding had stopped, still bothered him. He frowned as he decided that it would be a matter for the physicians. His parents needed no more sorrows this night.
His eyes stung and he turned his gaze away reflexively. Vrandiel. Her name came uninvited and invaded his mind. Vrandiel. He tried to push it out of his mind again, but the sight of her body, covered by the bloodstained drape, followed the name. Her face swam before him in the night, distorted by the tears that welled up in his eyes. Who would think to harm her? Who could be so cruel? He protested, anger rising within him. She had no enemies — she was innocent — who would commit such an atrocity? He was seething, and for a moment he inanely imagined the tears steam from his cheeks, even though they didn't. She wasn't the target — how could she be? — the attack was meant for me. Seregon was not without enemies. Of course — his mother had married his father for that very reason — the attack had to be meant for him, but somehow it had failed. He recalled that he had awoken from the voice of the assassin. The familiar voice. He couldn't make a connection to where he knew it from, but he remembered what the voice had been repeating. 'Nononono...' A woman, regretful. He had thought it was Vrandiel at first, but he had soon realized she was not. Before he had registered the rest of what she said, she had sunk a blade into his chest. The rest was blurred. He couldn't recall how or when he'd fallen unconscious, but he hadn't been awake when his mother had found him.
He was so tired. So tired, and the ache in his chest didn't relent. The hole she left behind would take long time to heal, he reckoned. He was so tired. 'Get yourself some rest, boy.' His father had said. Turning around in the room and looking to the bed, standing there so still and clean, he was tempted to obey. Yes, perhaps he would wake up from this nightmare, he found himself thinking hopefully. He quickly scolded himself for such nonsense. 'You are acting like a child.' He murmured, as he lay down in the bed and looked up to the roof. Unsurprisingly, the roof was not staring back down at him. Perhaps there yet remained some sense to this world.
His eyes stung and he turned his gaze away reflexively. Vrandiel. Her name came uninvited and invaded his mind. Vrandiel. He tried to push it out of his mind again, but the sight of her body, covered by the bloodstained drape, followed the name. Her face swam before him in the night, distorted by the tears that welled up in his eyes. Who would think to harm her? Who could be so cruel? He protested, anger rising within him. She had no enemies — she was innocent — who would commit such an atrocity? He was seething, and for a moment he inanely imagined the tears steam from his cheeks, even though they didn't. She wasn't the target — how could she be? — the attack was meant for me. Seregon was not without enemies. Of course — his mother had married his father for that very reason — the attack had to be meant for him, but somehow it had failed. He recalled that he had awoken from the voice of the assassin. The familiar voice. He couldn't make a connection to where he knew it from, but he remembered what the voice had been repeating. 'Nononono...' A woman, regretful. He had thought it was Vrandiel at first, but he had soon realized she was not. Before he had registered the rest of what she said, she had sunk a blade into his chest. The rest was blurred. He couldn't recall how or when he'd fallen unconscious, but he hadn't been awake when his mother had found him.
He was so tired. So tired, and the ache in his chest didn't relent. The hole she left behind would take long time to heal, he reckoned. He was so tired. 'Get yourself some rest, boy.' His father had said. Turning around in the room and looking to the bed, standing there so still and clean, he was tempted to obey. Yes, perhaps he would wake up from this nightmare, he found himself thinking hopefully. He quickly scolded himself for such nonsense. 'You are acting like a child.' He murmured, as he lay down in the bed and looked up to the roof. Unsurprisingly, the roof was not staring back down at him. Perhaps there yet remained some sense to this world.