Mythas' Return: The Lost Princess

Chapter Twenty Six: Mythas' Nightmare

Chapter Twenty Six: Mythas' Nightmare

    When the crescent moon crawled to the middle of the midnight sky, finally all had been reunited and resolved. Although it was relatively new, everyone seemed to take well to Nhymrin's position as their lone watcher of the eve on occasion, especially on days such as this - when they had all been worn thinner than paper. When Mythas lay her head down that night, beside the crackling fire and the soothing sound of her guild's soft breathing as they dreamt, she felt herself easily lulled to sleep.

    The fauness' dreams were usually immemorable, simple - for, since childhood, she had mostly had wishful thoughts of her return to Yagrivan, or making a friend from across the lake that she herself had never crossed until that fateful morning, when the drow descended upon their cottage. As a weeling, she would wake in tears when she realized that she still slept in her usual bed, that she had not gone anywhere mystical in the night - and that no one had been anxiously awaiting for her to awake.

    On this nightfall, however, Mythas' dream was different. The fauness sat on a singular throne, surrounded by mostly darkness that could only be broken through by scattered tea lights and torches that stood crooked out of the tar at her feet. A soreness stung around her head, at the base of her horns - and when she reached to touch it, she realized that a crown of spikes was embedded into her scalp. She pricked her fingers and cut her palms as she gripped the thorns, attempting to remove it - but it would not budge, as it seemed that her horns had grown into the circlet - and that they had become too large to pull the crown past. When she tried to stand from the cold throne beneath her, she could not step away from it - for her ankles were bound to the twisting metal legs, and the chains extended deep within her stiff flesh, sealed with scabs.

    "Princess." an unfamiliar voice echoed around her, as if it encapsulated the room she felt trapped in.

    Mythas struggled against her bindings but ultimately lost her balance and toppled back into the gilded throne, ears perking as she became alert. She trembled and watched while the dim flames blew out one by one as light treading footsteps approached her; each step taken was reminiscent of stray raindrops falling into a rusty bucket, set aside beneath one's leaking rooftop. The candles singed and sizzled like moist fingertips were clasping over them, suffocating the light. A pair of orange eyes suddenly materialized in the pitch, like two pieces of smoldering coal that peered at her through the shadows.

    "Cordellia." the voice sounded once more; his accent was certainly elven. A ball of fire appeared before him, like a solar orb but more unruly, uncontained and dangerous. Mythas was met with the sight of the man responsible for Challop's death; a drow with light grey skin, smoky hair that she could not determine the true color of - for was it black, or pewter grey as well? He was entrenched with dark robes that hid most of his body; the sorcerer looked like a pair of floating hands and a severed head against the blackness of the chilly throne room. "Doth thou know who calls upon you?"

    "A killer of cold blood." Mythas answered with disdain.

    "Perhaps." he coyly attested. "Guess again, more specific."

    "I do not know the name you walk by." the princess admitted as she began to grow frustrated with the constant burning pain of all of the iron that had been caught and stuck into her flesh. "Free me, now!"

    "This is not my doing." the drow sneered. "For you are the queen crowned by death...that fate is sealed with Pelleas' blood."

    "I was not there!" Mythas protested, a lump of grief beginning to choke her.

    "Do not call my name with such foul purpose." another elven voice demanded, but this one - she knew all too well. Pelleas argued again, "Away with you, sinful stoneflesh!"