A Fortune

Beckyann set the crate down, nodding to the old man who had been directing her. His shop, located in the Cathedral District, sold a variety of armor, weapons, and shields for warriors of all tastes and combat styles. Beckyann had offered to carry the crate for the older gentleman when she had run into him in the streets. His leg was crippled from a battle long ago, and she'd taken pity on him as she watched him trying to move the heavy object on his own. She'd used the shop before, both to repair her equipment and to obtain supplies for the 1113^th when necessary, and he'd always treated her respectfully and ignored what she was. Helping him was the least she could do.

“Thank you so much Miss Eastberg!” the man said with a smile. “I'm sure I would have gotten here eventually, but not until the sun set and my dinner was long cold.”

Beckyann nodded once, turning to head towards the door. She had more tasks to complete before she was off duty and she wanted to avoid any unnecessary attention from the General. Better to be efficient and quick with her tasks than suffer disciplinary action. As she reached the door, the man's voice called out behind her, “Oh! Miss Eastberg? Here's a little something by way of thanks. I'll pay you back more later on.”

Beckyann turned only to catch a small package from mid-air as it was tossed to her. The small object fit in the palm of her hand, and she looked down to find a fortune cookie resting there. Her head tilted curiously, she opened it and read the fortune inside: It doesn't matter. Who is without a flaw?

“Is it a good one, Miss Eastberg?” the shop owner asked. Beckyann merely shook her head and shrugged, heading for the door.

“Fortunes and fate are beyond me now, it matters little,” She murmured, exiting the shop. But it DID matter. The words on the fortune burned into her mind as she paused just outside the shop, her baleful blue eyes taking in a view of the Cathedral Square.

We are designed to be flawless. We are beyond death. Pain is but a pale shadow of what it was. Fear is something for those who have not already experienced the terror of death. We are impervious to the elements, we do not feel the cold or fire. We are stronger than we were, and we have no mortal weaknesses like the need to eat and sleep. We are immortal, never aging or changing. I will exist for centuries as a twenty-four year old woman. And yet...

And yet, her flaw was so obvious that simply looking into her eyes would detect it. Undeath was her flaw. The inability to live as a mortal creature. Some might argue that such a condition was hardly a flaw, but given her present location and previous experiences, Beckyann knew a great deal better on the subject.

As she walked down the stairs from the armorer’s shop, she could feel the fatal flaw in her stirring. The Cathedral, that mighty edifice dedicated to the Light, stood only a short distance away, its beautiful structure stabbing up into the sky as a tribute to the faith and devotion of those within it. Ever uncomfortable around such holy places, Beckyann felt even more uncomfortable as she heard the bells in the cathedral begin to chime, signaling the beginning of a ceremony. She didn't have to be anywhere near the structure to feel it, to know that hundreds of faithful had gathered, focusing their hope, their love, and their faith in the Light in one place.

Our flaw was so obvious, and yet the false King that created us did not realize how much it jeopardized his mission until the very end. Of course he knew what was at Light's Hope, but perhaps in his arrogance he believed that he had created weapons great enough to overcome the power of faith and Light. And yet, he failed, and we failed. The holy ground burned us, as it does even to this day. Others have become somewhat immune to it or managed to overcome its effects as I saw with our caravan escort, but I cannot even go that far. Try as I might, I can never again tread on such ground without feeling the burning sting of my one, all-encompassing and fatal flaw. The flaw that also freed me from the Lich King's control at the end, as the pain of the Light burned through my senses and allowed my will to reassert itself as His power waned.

Without realizing it, Beckyann had walked towards the edifice, and was standing only feet from the grand stairs that lead up inside it. In life she had been a devout follower of the Light, even though her sleepy little town had little to do with the vast organizations of faith that dominated much of Lordaeron. Even in Corin's Crossing she had believed in the basic strength and goodness in the Light, and even in her darkest hours, when her parents had passed, she held on to that belief.

And now, as she stood so close to the building while a ceremony was going on, she felt her face begin to burn, the skin reddening as if from a sunburn that her tan flesh would never have experienced in life. The slight pain of the Light's touch snapped Beckyann out of her thoughts, and she quickly hurried away from the building and the growing Light that her unnaturally glowing eyes could detect.

As her plate armor jingled with her quickened steps, she shot one last look over her shoulder at the edifice which she could never visit for any length of time; one that the country girl she once was would have adored. She shook her head, turning her back on the structure and hurrying even more quickly.

The fortune is entirely wrong. My flaw is the defining thing about me, the point of fact upon which every other piece of my existence now hangs. My flaw matters more than anything else, because it has redefined who and what I am. No other action I take, no other flaws that I may exhibit are more important than the fact that I am dead, and will always remain so.

No, flaws are very important. Some of us may be riddled with them, but some of us actually become something else entirely as a result of them.