Beckyann Short Number 11

Beckyann spoke the words to unlock the wards on her personal chambers, her hand pushing the wooden barrier in. She paused in the doorway, her head tilting as she sensed something unusual within Acherus. Something in her quarters was different, out of place. She lingered in the door for a minute, trying to discern what it was. Her blue eyes closed, her mind reaching out to feel the source of unease that she felt.

At first she sensed nothing, but when she concentrated hard on the small chambers that had been given to her and that she was quite familiar with, something snapped into place. There. Something was different on one side of the room. Her eyes opened and she stared hard at her writing desk. Upon it lay a small package, about two feet long and only three inches high. It was six inches wide. A small little thing to cause her such distress, and yet it was definitely the source of wrongness.

Cautiously she approached the package, her steps hesitant as she drew near it. She didn't have to pick it up to recognize the postal markings on it. She didn't have to open it to know where it came from. Across the top of the small, paper-wrapped object was the seal of the Argent Crusade, and the box itself still emanated a hint of Light. Given where it likely had come from, it was no surprise that it had absorbed such power and it made sense that its mere presence would disturb her.

But why is it here? Who would dare bring such an object to my quarters?

She leaned down, examining it. The label was clear as day. To Miss Beckyann Eastberg, Acherus. It had no return address. Nothing to hint at the contents, but it was clearly for her. And she had absolutely no idea who would have sent her such a thing. She reached out, her hand moving towards it ever so slowly. Carefully she tore open the wrapping and removed the lid of the box, her mouth opening in shock at what was inside.

A single rose lay in lacy paper within, the red petals perfect as if it had just been picked. Laying next to the flower was a note. With some hesitancy, Beckyann scooped it up, breaking the Argent seal on it and reading it. The handwriting was hauntingly familiar.

Dear Becky,

I know that you will not expect this, and I find that even I myself still cannot believe what I have discovered over the past several weeks. To think that years have gone by, precious years that I knew nothing of your fate, of what befell you afterwords. Although I know not how you will react to this, I could not help but reach out to you, at least one time.

In all of the long years of my life, the one thing I regret most is the day that we parted. Our time together was short, but it meant everything to me, was everything to me. As were you. A thousand thousand nightmares awaited me the day after you were torn from me. A thousand times I wished that fate had set a different path for us, or that I could have or would have acted differently.

I know that no words that I can say can ever repair what happened as a result of what I've done. It has stabbed at me, like an open wound, for all of this time. If I could change anything, I would, but I know that I cannot. A paltry sentiment after what you have endured I am sure. All I can say is that I'm sorry. All I can hope is that you have found some measure of peace, even now. When I learned of your name on the rolls of the 1113^th, I knew then how very great my folly was.

I do not expect your forgiveness, or even for you to respond to this. I wrote only to apologize where such words can never make up for my failings. I have fought in your memory. I have dedicated my life to correcting the mistake that I've made, and freeing those that I could. I even made you a grave, though there was no body to place in it. It was near Brill, near where we lived for that brief, magical time.

I hope that one day, you will find solace in rest, and that these words will comfort you. I am so very sorry my heart. More sorry that I could ever possibly explain.

With love eternal,

Frederick

The paper fell from nerveless fingers as Beckyann's eyes widened in shock and horror. For a moment, she felt a slight stirring in her chest as her heart beat two times. The feeling was not pleasant, and did not bring life to her undead flesh. Instead it pumped the slowly building rage that was consuming her mind to all of her dead nerve endings. She began to tremble, blind ever-lasting hate building in her.

Her head tilted back towards the ceiling and she began to howl, the sound almost inhuman. Words mixed with the wordless cry of anguish, “NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! YOU LEFT ME TO DIE YOU COWARDLY BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?! HOW COULD YOU TRY TO BRING ALL OF THIS BACK! THAT GIRL IS DEAD!”

In a flash her runeblade was out, the weapon arcing down into the table and shattering it. The rose was cut in half, the petals fluttering to the floor. The weapon plunged into the table so hard that it collided with the floor, the metal ringing as it cracked the stones. The blade came up and then down again as Beckyann slashed at the ruins of her desk again and again, screaming the entire time.

The door to her quarters opened as a death knight initiate rushed in. He'd heard the sounds of screaming and the shattering of the desk and quickly came to investigate. Seeing the blonde woman hacking away at her ruined furniture, he opened his mouth to ask what was going on, “Corporal Eastberg? What are you do-”

His sentence was cut off as the enraged woman turned and actually hurled her runeblade across the room. The heavy weapon tumbled end over end through the air, narrowly missing the initiate and embedding itself in the wood of the door. The assault made the initiate react instinctively, half-drawing his own weapon.

It was the very worst thing he could do.

In the blink of an eye Beckyann's hand had come up and dark tendrils of magic shot out, wrapping around the initiate and hauling him across the room. He came to rest with his neck in her unnaturally strong, vice-like grip. She held him up off the floor, her eyes distant and unseeing and her rage unchecked. The initiate realized he had only one chance to survive the encounter.

“Corporal Eastberg,” he said slowly. He noted as her eyes seemed to dimly focus on him. “Corporal. Beckyann. Eastberg. Snap out of it Ma'am!”

Her eyes regained a sense of consciousness and she blinked once, finally actually seeing him. With a flick of her wrist she hurled him across the room, turning to look at her shattered desk. “Leave. Now.”

“But Ma'am,” the initiate began, rising slowly from the floor. “I think that you should-”

“I SAID LEAVE NOW!” the blonde woman screamed, turning and pointing at him. A howling gale of freezing wind buffeted him as she poured unbelievable amounts of magic into the air. He felt his plate armor sliding on the stone floor as he slid out of the door and landed in a crumpled heap in the corridor outside. The door to Beckyann's quarters slammed shut with the force of the gale, her runeblade still quivering in the wood. Around the initiate lacy underthings that a dead woman probably didn't need to wear floated down to the ground, having been blown out of the room. A dress landed on his head, obscuring his vision.

“Screw this,” He muttered, reaching up to yank the dress off his head. He kicked other garments away from himself and stormed off down the hall. Behind him, the enraged ranting of a very pissed off dead woman filtered through the thick oak door as Beckyann raged to herself.

Some days it was not worth going out even when one was undead it seemed.