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Much later, in the dark chamber...
It had been hours, but already time had stretched out impossibly long for the undead elf. She felt the weight of every moment apart from Ventus - knowing her mistress was gone - like the pressure of repeated hammer blows upon her psyche.
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"
She had chastised herself. So little time had passed and she had failed in her eternal duty to keep Ventus safe and to restore her. It should have been her by Ventus' side when that blast came. They should have entered oblivion together.
Moreso than that, she felt the firey grip of resentment and jealous hatred of the living gripping her unmoving heart. All thoughts of others who were free to love and cherish as she had done to Ventus in just those short, but sweet days - she believed that none who moved on this plane could understand the depths of her connection and the sorrow of its severing. They were all scum, the living. They deserved to die. Everything deserved to die. Without Ventus in this world, what did anything else matter? It should all be stripped of its life and become still, so that it could not remind her of the misery that was her continued existence - eternal and unforgetting.
And then, as if that were not enough, she hated herself for feeling that way. Amid the rush of anger and hatred was the reminder of who she was, who she had been, and who Ventus had been. The noble purpose that had led her down this path in the first place. She, a Ranger of the Brightwood, intent on undoing the curse on one of the great heroes of the age, to reclaim a victory for her people from the stain of the lich's passing. How could you feel this way, Dasyra? How have you so swiftly forgotten yourself? Fallen so low?
It was hard to argue that she hadn't. Dwelling in these shadows, in this room with such mixed memories now. Maybe to cut down on the self-loathing, she should flagellate herself. Give herself pain - like Ventus had given her. Oh Ventus... the desire still was there. The hunger that she gave to her. To be on her knees before the great lady and to be sucking... swirling her tongue... swallowing the gift of her Mistress and properly being whipped and spanked and.... none of this to happen again. Never ever evermore...
These thoughts - all of them - churned through her mind in a continuous cycle. To an outsider somehow able to look in to the absolute darkness of the room, they would see the Dark Ranger go through bouts of wracking sobs, then catatonic forlorn staring, then red eyed lashing, futile anger, and beyond this a lewd moaning as she slapped, clawed, and touched herself in remembrance of the loving touch she was now denied.
Rinse. Repeat. Forever.
---
At least, that was until Sylvie the ghost appeared before her, describing her in a crude but in a way appropriate manner.
"Is that all you've come to say?" the ranger replied in cold scorn at the first sentence the ghost uttered, but waited as the ghost brushed it off as a tasteless joke and spoke on about Ventus. The fact that the ghost confirmed she was destroyed felt like the twist of an ice dagger already imbedded in her gut. Her face contorted into silent anguish, wanting to cry, but only a smudge of welled up blood appeared where tears should have flowed.
"A phylactary..." Dasyra mumbled, correcting Sylvie not out of kindness but in an effort to keep the story moving. At least the ghost had acknowledged the obvious: that Dasyra did love Ventus.
The ranger stood up, from where she had been kneeling in the middle of the chamber and brushed herself off. Sylvie's story was picking up pace now, and being given a direction - any direction - that could lead to bringing Ventus back was now the only reason of the dead elf's being. Entire civilizations would burn if they stood in the way of Dasyra's new goal.
"We are both her wives, Sylvie. You're telling me all this because I'm the only one who can and is willing to bring her back to us." She finally rose her red eyes to meet the apparation's gaze.
"I'll find the sword and get it away from these creatures. Then I'll take the portal and try to find someone who knows the secrets of reforming the undead from a phylactary. I'll get her back. Then she'll love us both again... and I'm sure you can just possess someone and enjoy physical pleasures with her, can you not? No, nevermind. No use reminiscing about that stuff until she's back with us. More important question: are you bound to this fortress or can you come with me? Your humor is a little grating, but it's as you say. You love her as I do. and that makes you the only one who understands me, really. So. Can you... I dunno... haunt me or something? I don't know how ghosts work."
It had been hours, but already time had stretched out impossibly long for the undead elf. She felt the weight of every moment apart from Ventus - knowing her mistress was gone - like the pressure of repeated hammer blows upon her psyche.
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!"
She had chastised herself. So little time had passed and she had failed in her eternal duty to keep Ventus safe and to restore her. It should have been her by Ventus' side when that blast came. They should have entered oblivion together.
Moreso than that, she felt the firey grip of resentment and jealous hatred of the living gripping her unmoving heart. All thoughts of others who were free to love and cherish as she had done to Ventus in just those short, but sweet days - she believed that none who moved on this plane could understand the depths of her connection and the sorrow of its severing. They were all scum, the living. They deserved to die. Everything deserved to die. Without Ventus in this world, what did anything else matter? It should all be stripped of its life and become still, so that it could not remind her of the misery that was her continued existence - eternal and unforgetting.
And then, as if that were not enough, she hated herself for feeling that way. Amid the rush of anger and hatred was the reminder of who she was, who she had been, and who Ventus had been. The noble purpose that had led her down this path in the first place. She, a Ranger of the Brightwood, intent on undoing the curse on one of the great heroes of the age, to reclaim a victory for her people from the stain of the lich's passing. How could you feel this way, Dasyra? How have you so swiftly forgotten yourself? Fallen so low?
It was hard to argue that she hadn't. Dwelling in these shadows, in this room with such mixed memories now. Maybe to cut down on the self-loathing, she should flagellate herself. Give herself pain - like Ventus had given her. Oh Ventus... the desire still was there. The hunger that she gave to her. To be on her knees before the great lady and to be sucking... swirling her tongue... swallowing the gift of her Mistress and properly being whipped and spanked and.... none of this to happen again. Never ever evermore...
These thoughts - all of them - churned through her mind in a continuous cycle. To an outsider somehow able to look in to the absolute darkness of the room, they would see the Dark Ranger go through bouts of wracking sobs, then catatonic forlorn staring, then red eyed lashing, futile anger, and beyond this a lewd moaning as she slapped, clawed, and touched herself in remembrance of the loving touch she was now denied.
Rinse. Repeat. Forever.
---
At least, that was until Sylvie the ghost appeared before her, describing her in a crude but in a way appropriate manner.
"Is that all you've come to say?" the ranger replied in cold scorn at the first sentence the ghost uttered, but waited as the ghost brushed it off as a tasteless joke and spoke on about Ventus. The fact that the ghost confirmed she was destroyed felt like the twist of an ice dagger already imbedded in her gut. Her face contorted into silent anguish, wanting to cry, but only a smudge of welled up blood appeared where tears should have flowed.
"A phylactary..." Dasyra mumbled, correcting Sylvie not out of kindness but in an effort to keep the story moving. At least the ghost had acknowledged the obvious: that Dasyra did love Ventus.
The ranger stood up, from where she had been kneeling in the middle of the chamber and brushed herself off. Sylvie's story was picking up pace now, and being given a direction - any direction - that could lead to bringing Ventus back was now the only reason of the dead elf's being. Entire civilizations would burn if they stood in the way of Dasyra's new goal.
"We are both her wives, Sylvie. You're telling me all this because I'm the only one who can and is willing to bring her back to us." She finally rose her red eyes to meet the apparation's gaze.
"I'll find the sword and get it away from these creatures. Then I'll take the portal and try to find someone who knows the secrets of reforming the undead from a phylactary. I'll get her back. Then she'll love us both again... and I'm sure you can just possess someone and enjoy physical pleasures with her, can you not? No, nevermind. No use reminiscing about that stuff until she's back with us. More important question: are you bound to this fortress or can you come with me? Your humor is a little grating, but it's as you say. You love her as I do. and that makes you the only one who understands me, really. So. Can you... I dunno... haunt me or something? I don't know how ghosts work."