An Inconvenient Past

As she neared the gates of Silvermoon City, Avielle slowed the speed of her deathcharger. The undead horse bit on its reins a bit, unsettled at the gaudy, bright entrance to the city and the two city guards who brought their weapons upright and eyed the mounted woman with suspicion. She brought her mount to a halt right before they would become uncomfortable enough to level their weapons at her, smiling at their discomfort.

It was only natural that they would question the approach of something undead from the direction of the Dead Scar. Her greeting at the city gates was the same each of the few times she'd returned to visit, and she knew that there was little that would ease the fears of the living elves in the walls beyond. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, she reached down, taking a small trinket out of a pouch on her belt and holding it up before them.

The little metal disc had the symbol of the Ebon Blade on it, and at the sight of it the guards relaxed just slightly. It had cost Avielle much to obtain the object, for she had not fought alongside those of Acherus while under the control of the Scourge. The Knights of the Ebon Blade had subjected her to intense, painful, intrusive, and humiliating tests both of her physical form and of her spiritual bond with her runeblade before they consented to give her one of their tokens. It had been worth it though, as the ability to freely enter Horde cities was vital.

The guards nodded at her, one of them pointing at her steed, "That creature cannot come beyond the walls."

The deathcharger, sensing the hostility, growled with a sound no ordinary horse would produce, making the guards more nervous. Avielle  rolled her eyes and dismounted, giving the two guards a harsh look before uttering words that no elf of Quel'Thalas should speak. The deathcharger shimmered once and then burst into dust, the drifting ashes blowing away in the winds of Eversong. She would summon it later, out of the eyesight of pesky patrols; she'd be damned if she was walking the entire way through the city to get to the translocation orb in Sunfury Spire.

With that task complete, she passed between the two guards quickly, ignoring the stares that she could feel boring into the black plate armor that covered her back, her stride confident as she entered Silvermoon proper and began her journey both to aid the Horde, and to discover a new purpose for her existence.

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The Royal Exchange was beautiful, as it always had been even in Avielle's time. With gold and red hues and artfully shaped trees placed at just the right intervals, one who had time to stop and appreciate the beauty of the place would find much to admire. For Avielle, it was just a reminder of what she had lost and she tried to hurry along her way. She didn't wish to tour the city or interact with the Sin'dorei, who were somewhat alien to her given her state and the fact that she'd died before their way of thinking had risen into prominence. Above all else, she wished not to encounter anyone she'd known in life, as such meetings could be awkward at best and disturbing at worst.

As fate would have it however, luck was not on Avielle's side, and as she stepped around a cart carrying fresh fruit to a nearby stand, she nearly collided head on with a group of Sin'dorei who had also been trying to avoid the obstruction. She came face to face with someone she had never thought to see again, someone she never wanted to see again.

Her former betrothed, Vilreth Brightleaf, stood before her, his mouth open in surprise and elves bearing the colors of his House crowded around him.

Time might as well have frozen as Avielle stood still, her eyes wide in shock. Whatever her own surprise, Vilreth's face showed not only shock at seeing her, but immediately slipped into horror at what she clearly had become. His mouth opened and closed several times, at a loss for words before he managed to croak out her name, "Avielle..."

Avielle was at a loss herself, for what did one say to someone whom they once loved, whose actions had quite literally resulted in one's death? She took a moment to study him, noting how he had aged in the time since they had last seen one another. No longer the breathtakingly handsome youth to whom she was to be wed, now he was a strong, strikingly handsome adult elf, his House tabard barely concealing his broad shoulders and the rippling muscles on his arms. Arms that had once wrapped themselves around her, comforted her when she needed it, held her as they slumbered together after making love in the forests of Quel'Thalas.

It was too much to bear.

She turned to leave, only to find his hand grasping her arm, "Avielle....wait. Please, don't go, not yet. I....there's so much to say, so many things I would ask you. I believed you to be dead. I was told....was told..."

She turned, her scourge-blue eyes gazing into his now fel-green ones, "I am dead. I fell long ago, and you were right to think that. I died in the service of Quel'Thalas. I died because you and your House never came that day. I died trying to protect your light-forsaken sister."

He rocked back on his heels, the venom in her words almost like a physical blow. Part of her enjoyed it, enjoyed hurting him the way she was hurting inside just from seeing his face again, but she knew she couldn't continue on like this; it was too painful to have a reminder of her life, of her happiness so close to her. It twisted in her gut like a sword, cutting her to her soul. She turned to leave again, and this time he stopped her not with his hand, but with his words.

"My sister lives, Avielle. You and those of your House saved her. She escaped the Scourge that day."

She stumbled, her hands going to her temples as the emotional pain of his words struck her to her core. We didn't die in vain. Everything we fought for meant something. All of those who perished....someone lived to remember it, someone appreciated what we sacrificed. 

Avielle felt the world tilting around her, and fought desperately to remain in control. Her consciousness wanted to withdraw, wanted to flee the pain that her undead form could only turn into anger and hate. If she did though, if she fainted, her body would run on instincts, and it would be a bloody massacre. She felt herself falling, felt the ground rushing up to meet her until two strong arms wrapped themselves around her and halted her fall, Vilreth holding her tight in his embrace.

She struggled internally, choking back bitter vile and hatred that had sustained her for years, desperately trying to center herself. Vilreth turned her around, steadying her on her feet, looking into her eyes with a mixture of disgust and sorrow at what she'd become, "I'm so sorry, Avielle. We couldn't come. Minutes after I sent that missive to you, the dead poured over our defenses. We could have cut our way through to your House, but we had other allies who were closer to us that we had to aid. Allies whom had already sealed such accords with marriages as you well know when you accompanied me to my brother's wedding. I argued with my father, with my brothers, but they were adamant that we could not go back, even to rescue my sister. It was too dangerous, and there was too little to gain."

Avielle shuddered and her hands came out, violently shoving Vilreth away from her, breaking his embrace. Her voice was cold now, and scourge-light blazed in her eyes, "Too little to gain?!" That is your apology? That is what you say after making me watch my family and all of those who served us perish? Is that what you said to the heirs of House Sunblade? That there was too little gain and too much risk?"

He shook his head, frowning, "Avielle, I have apologized. There is little more I can do at this late hour. If I had known you were....like this...I would have-"

His words were cut off when she quite literally hissed at him, "Like what? Like a filthy dead bitch? Do you know that I suffered? That I took a mortal wound and lingered on for hours in wretched agony before they bound my soul? Do you know that for years I was a slave, the little part of my mind that was free wishing, hoping, praying for true death or that perhaps someone, anyone would come and rescue me? Hoping in my own idiotic fashion that the one who claimed to have loved me would come with his soldiers and cut down those who commanded my obedience?! And you think a fucking apology is going to fix all of that?!"

She was raging now, and every instinct in her undead form screamed at her to draw her runeblade and cut him to pieces. It must have been visible on her face, because several of Vilreth's retainers actually drew steel and made to step in front of them. He brought a hand up, signaling them to stand down. When he spoke now, his voice was cooler, more distant, "I see that I truly was wrong. You are not my Avielle. You cannot be, not like this. My Avielle would never have spoken so harshly, would never have let rage consume her, even when she felt angry. I truly am sorry for what has befallen you, but there is nothing more I can do or say. I thought you dead, and life had to press on despite my grief, and now you inflict the grief on me all over again by showing me what truly became of you. I wish you had died, and had not risen like...like this ghost of what you were."

She stopped, standing unnaturally still, not even breathing for a few moments and making Vilreth's retainers even more uneasy. When she spoke again, it was with a mastery of her form that she had learned through years of practice, of brutally suppressing her own emotions so that she could continue on and function. Her voice was hollow and cold now, like a distant winter wind, "No, you are right. Avielle Silverlight is dead. May she rest in peace. I will leave you to your 'life', Lord Brightleaf. I am happy to hear that your sister lives and prospers. Perhaps she will become something better than what you have become, or what I was forced to become. Good day to you, Lord Brightleaf."

It took every ounce of her self control to turn and walk away slowly, as if she were in control of her body. Within, her form raged, the need to harm her betrothed and his retainers almost unbearable. She could picture herself cutting their limbs off, chopping them to bits with her runeblade even while they screamed in agony, even biting them while they writhed in pain and taking bits of their flesh. The horrific images continued to flash through her mind the entire way back through the Royal Exchange.

She changed course, heading for the Bazaar and making her way into an alley between several of the structures until she found a dark, quiet place to fall to her knees and wail with grief. In the distance, residents heard the sound and several shuddered, closing the doors to their shops early as it sounded like a banshee had made its way past the guards and they wanted no part of such a creature.