CZAROWNIICA   ❜

& vriehedd

               she remembers.

there is light – too much light, even though it is clearly nighttime;
there is noise – too much noise, even though those are only the
trees. people – no, not people – speak to her, and she replies,
and her voice sounds utterly ALIEN to her, for she remembers a
different voice, a hoarse voice that whispered, spoke, cried out…

she doesn’t remember when, or what,
or whom that voice belonged to even –

the voice itself is the only thing she remembers beside DARKNESS.
darkness she’s been torn out by those… aen seidhe, they call themselves
just that.  

a voice asks, and another voice – her OWN now, her own voice,

                   ‘ neén. my name… neén– ‘

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                                     no. she remembers not.

           Devoid of magnanimity, visage beholds little more than a shade of stolidness. It almost appears exorbitant, having weapons drawn on a woman who botches colloquy, fumbles for words ( and yet the Woodland Fox was known for his ostentatious displays, yes?

           ❝  Of course a dh'oine would
                be foolish         enough to
                wander through the forest
                while drunk on fisstech.   

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A listless wave of gloved hand, and archers rest hesitantly; commander lingers aside faltering interlocutor, though scowl remains evident. The unit murmurs amongst itself, perhaps condescending to question why they’ve squandered any breath and sweat on a woman who can hardly speak, but all incredulity goes without any such antiphon.

           ❝  I don’t need   your name; I
                ask only that you disclose
                what brought you here, if
                not to infiltrate  the camp.  

notice board

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE!

THE ELF IORVETH

EXCEPTIONALLY RUTHLESS COMMANDER TO A UNIT OF Squirrels

Written by Cress
Drafts: 11; Inbox: 0

CREDITS.