We Are: Waking The Fallen

4: The Dark Lady: Our Savior, Our Betrayer, Our Destroyer

Eyes wide, he sat up with a jolt. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the scarred right side of his face, grimacing. He looked at the window, where the stars glittered coldly, offering no hop of salvation from the tyranny that rained over his kind. He pulled his hand through his hair one more time and sighed, before leaning his old and frailed body against the headboard of his plush bed. He folded his shriveled, pale arms and sighed once more. "You called?" He whimpered to the window where the moonless sky hung nearly undisturbed. A shadow, many shades darker than the actual, near black sky, shifted and the window, locked and bolted and chained. The locks and chains and bolts all snapped open, falling off. The window opened and the black silhouette climbed through the small window, their lithe body fitting easily though the glass they had smashed just before. 

"I did." The silhouette was female, and her features became apparent as the dim phyrelight the man conjured hit her. Her eyes shone dimly, coldly, and they were jet black and unseeable, like burning coals. She tossed a picture of a man at the frail creature that leaned on the headboard of his bed. 

"No formalities then.." The fragile creature sighed. He looked at the image. A well painted picture of a silver haired man with stunningly empty and blank eyes. He wore no shirt but a coat with a hood lined with feathers. On his legs he donned skin tight leather trousers and silver plated boots. What caught the creatures attention was the ears. Long and pointed, showing from under his beautiful silver hair, the pointed ears of a Thorn Elf. His skin was almost as pale as his eyes and hair. He looked like a true corpse. The only thing that gave him away was, minus the colourlessness of his eyes, the artist had managed to reflect some light into them. "An Undead, My Lady?" The creature looked at the shockingly beautiful woman that stood before him.

Contrary to her name, her skin was as pale as a white cloud and was almost translucent. Her hair and eyes, however, were blacker than night. Her hair tumbled lazily over her shoulders like a tired waterfall over her perfectly curved body. It rested halfway behind her knees and was waved like the stalks of grass in the summer breeze. Her lips were full and her cheeks, though very slightly, were flushed. Her eyes, however, the burning-coal eyes of a demon, help no warmth or love, unlike someone would expect from someone of her beauty. "Alistaire, I trust you will be able to do the deed." Her voice was cold and unforgiving, cruel and clouded. The opposite of her unparalleled beauty.

"But...." Alistaire frowned. "He is one of the last Thorn Elves. And they are nigh unbeatable." 

"And how did this man die, servant?" Her voice growled and her eyes glared daggers, no, swords at the fragile creature before her.

"..I will do what you ask, My Lady, and I will not ask your motives, but I must ask one thing..." Alistair forced out, withering under Her harsh gaze.

"Then say it." She bit back.

"A Thorn Elf is a rare beauty in this world. If you raised him, as he seems to be newly created, why would you have raised him  in the first place?"

"He seemed to be but a child. Instead, he has become an anomaly." She replied simply, not moving her head, but turning her body, so She was looking over Her shoulder. "Will you do it?" She asked again, this time her voice had taken on a menacing tone, her eyes boring into him like burning knives.

"Yes, My Goddess..." He mumbled, bowing his head, his dull eyes filling with regret as the Lady punished him with Her quiet words.

"You are the leader of Spies and Assassins. I trust you to not betray me." She grunted and retreated through the window. A clattering of a skeletal horse could be heard, and then the Dark Lady rode off into the night.

Alistaire closed his eyes and rose to his feet, the fragility he got from the illness that spread through his bones vanishing as he reached for his cane. 

"Forgive me, Lady. Forgive me, Lord. But I will not kill such a beast." His voice was nothing but a harsh whisper, but the Dark Lady, She had placed her own spies into the man's room. She heard every word he had said, and a cruel smile danced onto her perfect lips.

"Just you wait, little brother. I will show you your mistake."

Our Lady, the Dark Queen, The Goddess of Nie. The leader of the Undead had many names, and many of them ranged from insulting to loyal, but none knew her true name.

It was said she was as old as time, ancient and unforgiving. But her age was as much of a mystery as her name. The Enigma Empress. Years after these events, people argued over what had happened, whether it was fiction or fact.

I am Spiral.

I am the last true witness.

~Spiral- The Overseer, The Emperor, The White King to the Black Queen.