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|This is the story that came out of the poem 'Serevyn's Plaint' It will be edited when I get around to it. NEWS: I am currently world-building for this story, so this will be coming down eventually and replaced with a much more detailed story.||
This wasn’t supposed to happen. That was all that kept running through her mind as she stared in disbelief at her bleeding hands. She turned them this way and that, examining them from all angles, gazing at the red, red blood dripping from the slashes across her palms. She looked up at the male standing over her, his blade bright and unforgiving. Her fathomless eyes were dark and wide with pain and incredulity as she half sat, half sprawled on the incandescent steps. She took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke.
The wavering agony in her voice touched the male, and he lowered his blade, and looked helplessly into her eyes. “Serevyn…. You knew it was not permitted... I cannot let you pass... I am sorry.”
Her lips parted as she keened, the wind rising and whipping her hair and clothes into frenzied motion. In one fluid movement she was on her feet, her eyes wild, springing at Rinariel. He immediately stepped back and raised his gleaming sword, ready to strike.
Rinariel spun as a bestial roar erupted from behind him, and was confronted by the snarling countenance of Azariel. Dark wings were spread wide as Azariel leapt toward Rinariel, catching the dazzling blade in his hands and preventing any strike at Serevyn. Rinariel fell to his knees before Azariel's rage, his head bowed in humility.
"My lord... Forgive me, but she may not pass, and you must return to the Inner Sanctum. Judgment starts soon, my lord, and surely you do not want to displease the Council any more than is already done?" Rinariel's voice was almost pleading, begging Azariel to step down.
Azariel growled once more, but his eyes were now more anguished than angered. He flung the blade away, and stood towering over the crouched form of Rinariel. Azariel's voice was harsh and deep when he spoke, the edges rough and pained. "You shall not harm her. Judgment is not yet passed, my friend, and I would remind you that I still hold sway over my power."
"Yes, Lord Azariel. It is noted." Rinariel shook slightly at this reminder as he remembered what kind of power Azariel held. His mind flashed back to the Battle, where Azariel had defeated the Chaost Lords. When Azariel had called the lightning wraiths everyone ran; friend and foe alike fled the malevolent creatures spawned in the storm-filled skies. The battle had been won easily after that, with the moral of the Chaostian armies gone with the death of their Lords. Rinariel remembered.
Azariel gestured impatiently at the bent figure in front of him. "Go, Rinariel. Tell the Council that I shall arrive in due time. They will give me this at least."
Rinariel bowed and left, wishing in his heart of hearts that it did not have to be this way. Before he was out of sight he turned once, and nearly sobbed; the silhouette painted against the dying light was a single shadow, the two made one.
|Sending Butterflies||Morning Star|
|Immortal Eyes||Infection (or Undine's Lament)|