No Good Choice

*Corin's Crossing, Lordaeron, at the height of the plague of undeath.*

The hacking cough echoed through the room, Serephel Delange's body shuddering as she struggled to draw in breath only to expel it again violently. Her vision spun crazily as she leaned forward, coughing harder and harder, bright red, foamy arterial blood staining the linen sheets of her bed as it came up from deep within her.

The fit subsided after a time, the dark haired woman staring in wide-eyed horror at the blood now soaking her sheets, her thoughts spiraling into darkness as she realized her fate was sealed, her mortal shell about to fail her.

"It's the plague..." she whispered to no one, for no one was there in the deepest part of the night, no one could hear her suffering. The estate grounds where she worked and lived just outside of Corin's Crossing were sealed now; the iron gates around the property locked and guarded. The plague had come to Lordaeron, and as its effects became known and the dead began to walk in ever greater numbers, those few who were uninfected had begun to either flee or shelter in places where they thought they would be safe. Serephel's employers were amongst the latter, believing their noble line was secure behind fences and private guards.

Except Serephel had brought the plague into the estate.

She hadn't meant to of course; she hadn't know at the time that a bite could be infectious. One of the other servants had fallen ill at their home in Corin's Crossing proper, and she'd gone to visit her friend on her sickbed. The girl had risen of course, her teeth clamping down on Serephel's arm and leaving a bloody gouge. At the time, she had thought nothing of it, and had hidden it away for fear that such a wound would cause her to be turned away from the estate grounds and sent to fend for herself in a land that was now teeming with undead creatures.

Creatures like what she would soon become. The blood staining her sheets told the tale quite well, although if that was not enough evidence the pox that she had developed in the past few hours and her raging fever would have been additional damning evidence. Serephel Delange was as good as dead, and no one and nothing could save her from her fate now.

Another coughing fit took her, this one much worst than the last, her vision graying at the edges as she spat out more blood. She would die in her room and then rise, attacking the others in the estate, turning others as she had been turned. It was happening all over her nation, and she knew with grim certainty that the days of Lordaeron had come to a close.

"You do not have to dieeeeeeeee...." a voice seemed to whisper to her.

Serephel looked wildly around the room, peering into the darkness of the night in an attempt to spot the source of the sound. She had heard such voices before, malefic whispers talking of unspeakable things. They had been there for years, either a figment of her imagination or perhaps the consequences of some casual studies into darker tomes that others had warned her not to touch. Either way, she usually ignored them and hearing one now on what was to be her death bed only irked her.

"Go away whatever you are, I'm busy dying," she said sullenly to no one.

"Why perish from this world when you can live on? I can help you, for a price," the voice replied.

Serephel looked up in alarm now, her eyes wide and her ever-weakening heartbeat pounding in her chest. The voices had never answered her before, had never sounded so real, so close before. "W-who are you...show yourself!"

The darkness of her room gave way to a spec of flame at the foot of her bed, the light bleeding into the night as if it were a part of it rather than fighting against it. Green fires spurted furtively around a tiny form, an impish creature perched on the edge of the bed. It grinned at her, sharp, evil looking teeth making the gesture look more a threat than anything else, and it gave off a little hiss before speaking again, "I am known as many things, but I shall not give you my Name. Instead, I will offer you a bargain."

Serephel swallowed hard, fighting to hold back another coughing fit as she stared at the creature. Her voice was weak and unsteady when she replied, "W-what kind of bargain?"

The imp, for it was certainly a demonic imp, grinned at her, "Your life for the completion of a task. I have the power to save you, to spare you from this fate you so fear, but there is something I need you to do for me, for us rather."

"W-what favor? And how can you p-possibly spare me?" Serephel said, hope surging in her even as a part of her warily recalled that she was speaking to a demon.

"There are two in this estate who will live through this plague, if nothing is done to change that," the demon hissed. "Two who made bargains for power, who can use that power to shield themselves. They have not upheld their side of their agreement, and cannot be permitted to live. Slay them as a sacrifice, and I shall offer you a respite from this death."

"Y-you want me to k-kill people..." Serephel said.

The imp grinned at her discomfort before whispering words of power. It held out its hand, and in it a black dagger appeared, the weapon conjured from fel power, "Use this, stab them in the hearts, and your life will be in your own hands once more."

Serephel stared at the weapon, her eyes boring into it and her voice silent. Her thoughts raged, her fear of death, of becoming the undead, pressing in on her from all sides. A coughing fit took her, her body shuddering as she coughed up glob after glob of her lifeblood, the action making her weak and almost causing her to fall backwards into the bed where she knew she would not rise again.

She reached up and wiped blood from her mouth on her sleeve, her voice shaking and almost a whisper when she replied, "I accept the bargain."

The imp grinned and handed her the blade, its voice triumphant, "Good, good. I knew you would see reason. The two who must die are your employers. They slumber now in bed. Go, go quickly, and I shall spare you."

Serephel gripped the dagger hard, her knuckles white as she nodded and rose unsteadily from the bed. She braced herself on the bedpost for a moment before she was steady enough to walk, fighting off another coughing fit that would give her away. The imp disappeared, but she could sense it near, like a lingering malice in the air.

She pushed open her bedroom door, walking softly down the corridor where the servants slept. The estate was quiet, those inside believing they were sheltered from the horrors out in the countryside, never knowing that she lurked in their midst bearing the plague. She padded barefoot down the stone corridor, making her way deeper into the estate. The guards were not present; they had been assigned to watch the gates to prevent any undead from entering the grounds and it was easy enough for Serephel to make her way to the quarters of her employers.

The door to their bedchambers was unlocked, and she pushed it open quietly, standing in the darkness and straining her eyes to see. Two forms lay together on a huge bed, their limbs intertwined as they slept peacefully in an embrace. The young Lord of the estate and his wife, newly married just months before the outbreak of the plague.

Serephel hesitated as she watched them sleep. Here were two people that had treated her well. They had provided her with employment, with food and a place to stay and a stipend to spend on herself. They had not been cruel to her, had not shown themselves deserving of the fate that she would deliver upon them. They slept in innocence, their love for one another plain to see in their embrace; an embrace she would make their last one.

She could feel the imp beside her, invisible, almost coaxing her on. It need not have bothered, for she could feel another fit of coughing about to come on, could feel the fever burning in her veins. She had no time, no options left. She had to do what she had to do to survive.

She closed the door softly behind her, determination setting in. She walked across the room with purpose, her bare feet making not a sound on the plush carpets on the floor. She loomed over the couple, knowing that she was about to commit murder and knowing she had no other choice. She could feel the imp's glee as she brought the dagger up, her arm hesitating one final time.

The blade plunged down, into the lord's back first. He cried out only once, and only feebly as the blade went deep into his heart, his blood pouring from his open mouth. Beside him the lady of the house stirred, her eyes wide in shock and horror as she saw her beloved die. She brought a hand up, a scream coming from her lips as Serephel climbed onto the bed and brought the bloody dagger up again.

"Why?! Please Light don't do this! Why are you doing this?!" the woman begged.

Serephel did not answer. Instead she plunged the blade down and into the woman. The first strike missed her heart, instead striking her in the neck. Serephel struck again and again, blood flying from the woman's wounds until finally the black metal struck her heart, ending her feeble screams once and for all. In that moment, the blade dissolved, turning into a puff of black smoke and blowing away as if on a foul wind.

Behind Serephel, the imp reappeared, the grin on its face almost fixed there as it watched the young servant girl begin to cough fitfully, her blood mixing with that of the lord and lady she'd just slain. For a moment, Serephel could not catch her breath, her coughing seemingly endless, her life flashing before her eyes as death neared. She recovered after a time, just barely, and glared at the imp, her voice hoarse, "I have done my part of the bargain. Where now, is your contribution?"

The creature laughed at her, and her mouth hung open in shock as it mocked her, pointing at her and dancing from one foot to another. In a flash it turned into a burning green fire, the force rushing up and into the air, closing the distance between them before Serephel could react. Pouring into her open mouth and down her throat, flowing into her body, into her blood.

At first, it was pleasure like she had never felt. It was energy, power, renewed life flowing through her veins. She writhed on the blood soaked bed amongst the corpses, feeling the fel power coarse through her body, burning away the plague, burning away her fear of death in a second. And then the heat grew, the flames within her a searing fire that mixed pain with pleasure and made her arch her back and scream up at the ceiling as it burned her to her very soul. Her eyes glowed green and flames spurted from her mouth, her scream falling silent as the last of the illness was seared from her flesh.

And then it was over, Serephel's limp form falling onto the bed, a puff of smoke exiting her mouth as she exhaled, a smile playing over her lips. For she knew in that moment that she had been cured, that her health had been restored. The bargain was sealed; she would live through the plague, her life was her own.

If only it were to be that easy.

*******************************************************

*Stormwind City, present day.*

Serephel sat at a table in the small cafe, a travel journal in front of her in which she made a few notes. Wearing a simple dress and sturdy boots meant for walking long distances, she little resembled the young serving girl that had been through so much all those years ago. If not for the pock-marks that dotted her skin here and there, there would be no indication that she had ever set foot in Lordaeron or seen any hint of plague in her life.

She finished writing, reaching down to grip the handle of a cup of hot chocolate and bringing it to her lips. She sipped it slowly, the warm heat of the liquid running down within her and warming her inside. She set the cup down, reading over her notes before beginning to write another line in the journal.

The coughing fit came suddenly and unexpectedly, as they always did. One moment she was writing, the next she was doubled over, sounding to all the world like she'd had the worst chest cold of all time. She coughed miserably into the sleeve of her dress, flushing pink with embarrassment as the others in the cafe stared at her. After a time her coughing subsided, and they looked away and back to their own business.

Serephel sighed, looking down at her sleeve, her eyes taking in the sight of three drops of fresh blood on the white fringe that made up the end of the garment. A sight she had become all too familiar with over the years as the death she had avoided in Lordaeron stalked her still.

She would need to heal herself soon, to re-energize her body lest it succumb to the fate that had been allotted to it. She would need a source of demonic energy and, as always, would need to absorb that source even if it meant summoning and killing a very live, very angry demon and potentially corrupting herself further.

Such was life, for if she failed to do so, she would surely perish and face the consequences that her acts had wrought for her. For Serephel, there was only darkness ahead, unless she could keep it from her eternally.

Such was her damnation.