Aegnas’s Journal
It’s been days since I saw Rosefica, and I have been going over and over what happened between us in my mind. The distraction is, perhaps, not timed as well as it could have been and my distraction has been noticed by more than just the undead I brought with me. I have excused myself from training for now and left my students in the care of Ebon Blade instructors to escape their relentless questions.
Acherus feels...cold and lifeless. Logically, I know this is intended, but I find myself yearning for a glimpse of Suramar and to walk in the forests of Val’sharah. I find myself missing...home. Quel’thalas.
I never used to think of it as home. Home was...I don’t know, really. I was anxious to get away from family, away from Magistry intrigue, away from problems, away from my father’s mistakes and my mother’s ire. Away from my grandfather. No one who knew him then would be surprised by him now.
Quel’thalas was never a welcoming place when I was alive.
How strange it is to think of it now. Memories of growing up and of my march with the Scourge are eclipsed by...Rosefica. Traejan. Vittani. Laughter and frustration, happiness and outright enmity. I miss my home in the city, my cat...even the chicken.
I miss Rosefica. I said as much, but I admit it here. I miss her deeply. I love her still. I miss holding her. I miss a thousand small intimacies I took for granted. The way she would fuss over my hair. Trying to remind her to eat while she works. Attempting to drag her back to sleep when she would wake before dawn to head to her shop. Her laughter.
Even our fights. She was...formidable. I could never get my way, I could only hope to sway her to my way of thinking. She was a puzzle and a challenge, someone who never backed down from me.
I remember vividly a time she gave me hope for a somewhat normal life. A warm and happy life after my King’s death. I was always too broken to believe in that dream for too long, and she too skittish to be rushed.
This is not the first time I’ve wished, madly, that we’d met when I was alive.
I feel the Scourge there, like a cold, numbing balm. Surrender. Death is inevitable. Destruction of the living is certain. We have time. In the end, all join our ranks. The absolute will of my King makes it difficult to think treasonous thoughts of h...Quel’thalas for too long. His voice speaks of Icecrown, of a cold landscape scoured clean of the living.
I wonder, though, if that is truly where I belong anymore?
Addendum: Who is this Eridan Sungazer, anyway? He does not take care of her properly, I’d wager, or I’d have not had to remind her to sleep. And I’d not be currently, vividly picturing joining her in bed. Mages! I suppose I’ll have to find out more about this man who managed to do what I could not.
