Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Dvidow-Goodman written c. 1950, featured in The Collected Letters

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Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Ann Dvidow-Goodman written c. 1950, featured in The Collected Letters
Go Back
(OC: Amoreandorin Sablethorn, Sin'dorei, Illidari.)
S̶̡̨̜̮͖̠̖̥̤͉̼̘̟̆͋̿͛̚̕ớ̸̥̦͗̌̀̆̇̒͒̅͊͗̕̚͝F̴̢̛̳̳͌̄̂͒͐̈́́͊̅̈́͋́͘͝t̴̨̙̤͔̪̳̰̗̝̖̯̭̼̼͗̚ͅ ̸̟̣͙̮̜̭͕̝͋̀̊ͅT̶͎̐̈́͒͑͗̊̓̿̀̍̕̚͝h̷̬̘̜͇͔̣͈͆̈́͌I̸̠̘̲̅̀́̄̈́̽̑̈́̍͑̆͒ṇ̶̬̣̤̺̳͎̬͇̱̘͇͎̆͂̒͛͐̈́͜͜G̷̛̭̥̋̓̎̈́͛͒̑͂̊̌ ̶̹̳̠̦͉̈́̾̅̀̕͝ ̴͖̘̖͓͎̦̤͔͓̭̯͑̅̄́͗̈́̐͒̓͌̅̏͗͜͝s̸̢̺̼͛̊̃͒̈̎̊̐͒̆̚͝M̷͎͓̬̖̥̥̫͔̉͐͑͗͘e̸̡͇̗̝̪̬̣̤̮̪̖̍͌̐̇͌̀̋̐͜L̸͖̞̝͙͈̞̤͓̂̑̕l̶̢̡͍̬̲̬̖͇̹̪͙̙̻̅̎͊̑̈͐͂̊͘Ŝ̵͔̿͊͑̂͗̚͠ ̶͍̫̽̀̔̏́̋n̸̹̙̝̪͈̣͚̤̠͔̪̠̤̱͆̒I̴̢̼̤͖͈͎̩̅c̴̨͎̫͇̲̤͉̭͇̤̒͌̏̒́͒̅̇̑̔̓̃̌͝Ę̷̖̜̜͚̯̜̿̑͋́̅̅̎̏́̍̽͊͝͝
Down, boy.
i̴͓̻̲͍͙͗̌̂̕̕͜F̵͙̟̌͆̑ ̷̧͇͔̣̩͔̒̀͑̽̾̚͜n̵͎̗̤̳͐̒Ơ̵̢̛̹̻͍͎̟̼͕̗̊̈́̇̾̾͗t̶̲͙̺̙͇̦̼̲͓͗͐̀͜͝ ̴̬̻̇̽̐̐͐̋̐̾̆̇̈́̓̇̈́͠F̷̛̛̺͖̜̘͚̠̯̟̂̑̆͒̀̓͛̍̈̆̚͝o̸̢̡̟̫̩̣̗͛͆ͅͅR̶̡̡̨̞̗͔͈̮̺͓̱̮͉͒͂̔̌͋̏̂̀́̃̕ ̴̡̧͖̦̱̮͈̺̩͛͊̎͋̊̀̑̈́̋͐͐̏͜͝͝ė̸̢̡͓̼̥̮̬̗̩̜̼̮̝̗̖̃̾̔̽͂́Ȃ̵̡̡̜̣͚̘̱͉̳̠̘̒͂̑̿͋́̉̉̈́̋͂͜ť̵͖͎̽́̒̿͑͒̓̄́͂͐̀̚͝ ̶̧͙̳͈̱̦̳̫̺̘̭̋̇̿ ̴̡̛̋́̀̑̃́͗͝T̵̟̫̒̅́̓̊̌h̷̡̼̻͔̝̮́̐̀̎E̷̮͙̤̦͓̣̭̬̦̽̒̔͋͘͠n̴̳̲̙̗̯͎̋͆̀̊̐̄̈̄̊̌̚͘̕͝͠ ̴̨̧̛͙̰̙̺̩̙̦͇̤̋͆͋͛̂́̅̎ͅW̷̢̳̠̞̭̼̤͇̠̪͚̲̟̗̪͒͛̈́̄͌͊͆̀̉̓̀̂̋̚͝h̸̢̺̘̪̪̙̳̩͇̦̳̓̈̾̚ͅY̵̻̘̮̠͉͛̐̈́̿̏̿͝ͅ ̸̺̫̯͐̓̏̄̑̃́̒͛̇͌s̵̨̨̱̩͎̜̞̍̔̾́̿̿̊̄̐͛M̵̖̤͍͙̟̹͍̦̫̱̅̾̃́̈́̏̎ë̷̢̱̱́̎̑̄́̾̅̈̈́̏̏̚͜͝L̵̰̎̿̇̇͘͘̕͝l̴̡̧̧͈̠͉͚̝͚̖̟̗̱̻̓̄̽̎̎͋̊̆͝͝ ̴̰̳̳͕̦̼͉̲̝̙͕̓̏̃̍͒s̴̛̙̝͔̞͉̬͖͖͑̏̑͂͋̆͌́̈́͐̌̕͘̚Ǫ̴̧͓̲̪̘͇̝̭̬̯̿̃̈́́͛̍͘͜ ̶̨̭͈̟̏̆͌̽́̔̓̈́̈́̎̊͋̄̀͝g̶̝̫͓̪̘̜̘̩͋̔͋̃͑̄̽͗͒̚Ơ̵̳̲̏̎͒̍̆́͑̒̾̈́̈̅̎o̸̧̧̡͉͔͚͔̤͕̱͖̖̜̟͆̓̄̆͂̿̆̅̈́̕͘ͅD̶̨̘̱̭̬̻̬̹͙̘̯̫͚͊̌̌̏̏͝?̷̨̨̝̪̩̉̈́͆͑̓̅̀̐̿̾̿̄͝
"We've been over this, Shithead." Reasoning with the beast wasn't possible, and if people saw him talking to himself again... well, the nobility was relatively accepting of the Illidari - as accepting as his people could swallow being; but talking to oneself in public... especially at night? - is always frowned upon. But it felt weirder somehow, to only converse in his own head? There was no winning, with sharing one's body, really. He knew what the damned thing meant, though. Didn't like that it felt the same way he did - but then, how much of WANT was him, and how much was it, anymore, really?
He hadn't meant to take charge, and start handing down direction, but... his own sister had just come 'back from the dead' so recently. Years... years of thinking she'd been dead - thinking it was his fault. That he shouldn't have become Illidari, because at least then he'd have died with her. She wouldn't have died alone, and cold and lost in a land she didn't know. It's just what you do, as the eldest - and as a big brother. You give your little sister room to grow, and fail and learn - but you're there when it matters.
Their Prince had split them. One, a renowned Spellbreaker to join the Illidari. One, a prodigal Magistrix to go on the mission to 'defeat' the Lich King. They were supposed to be doing the family name, and Quel'thalas, proud - it wasn't supposed to end how it had - because the Prince hadn't returned from that trip with anyone who had left with him.
Amoreandorin had been too far along, too deep in becoming Illidari at the time - and in a way, losing his eyes had been a boon... no more crying - only fury, pain, and rage to fuel him. The pain of losing his little sister... his one real responsibility in life... this person who'd spent her whole life looking up to him... on top of the defeat and rape of Quel'thals by Arthas. It had all been so heavy, back then.
The Magistrix had hit a chord that was already tender - Vynamue had reconnected recently. She'd come back from the dead, in her own way - even without his eyes, he'd known her just from... something. His gut. He'd seen that magical signature, then he'd heard her voice - all these years later, he knew it. Knew her.
She'd been enslaved to the Lich King, at first... and if the fucking Kaldorei hadn't imprisoned him... he could have gone to her, back then. Could have looked for her. Saved her, brought her home sooner... instead, he'd sat in fucking stasis thinking about how it was his fault she was dead, now... and his family line would be wiped out. His mother would be alone in the world, having lost everyone.
By the time he was back in the world, among the people... so much had happened that she had long since been presumed dead - and something in him wanted to remind this blushing Magistrix how... precious that is. Not just anyone gets a second chance to kick ass - but she's among those special few.
g̴̯̜̫̰̣̯̬͚̳̹͖̑Ǒ̴͇̦̓̄̀͐̂̀́̇̂́͗͂͝ ̴̧̖̞̙̀ḃ̸̨̢̨͇̞͇͔͕̩͍̰̤̖̙͜Ā̶̢̩͚̭̝̤͍̦̻͙̫̼͚̈́̀̔̔̔̽̏̈́́̕͠͝ç̸̨̢̛̛̮̬͍̣̻̖͂̽̓̅̎̋̓̂̊̊̔̕ͅK̵̦̭͔̥͈͈͙͒̅̉̈́́̀͜ ̶̨̝̜̮̺̪̽̾̂͛͗͂̒ ̸̭̣͔̫̤̉̓͐́́̍̉̎̈́͆͝s̴̠̜͔̎̿͋͊͛̽̈́̔̔̚͝M̷̨̨͍̩͔̟͇̞̻͕̹̎̽͒̈̈́̈̿̀̍͠͠ȅ̶̱̪͈̐̂͊͛̌͝ͅL̴͔͙̬͔̻̼͚̪̝͍̓ͅl̶̢̤͓̲̲͚̼͌́̍͊́ͅS̵̛̍̈́͋̄̽̈͑̿̈́͜ ̸̖̖̠́̏g̸̣̝̯̯̘̙̠̈́̓̋̈́̀̾̽͜Ô̴̰̝͗͊̍̔͐̆̀̋̌̐̆̕͝ǫ̷̧͈͙̻̝̗̝̤͕̽̋͂͛͛D̵̛̺͐̑̀̓̍̀͆̈͐͝
Even thinking about her sets the dog to barking.
"Can we not do this right now? I'm the boss, remember? We don't do what you want - fuck off." But if he was honest with himself, he needed to hit a portal to the current Void assault - put his blades to work, and feed the damn dog before it did decide it was the boss.
COMING SOON!
For more information, please see our FAQ page —> HERE!
It’s our second challenge of the year, starting a little later than normal due to busy May schedules! We’re looking forward to writing with you all again, learning more about your OCs and reading your stories!
See you with a word list soon!
Home Again, Home again
(( OC: Cassiopia Cinderbloom, Thalassian Elf. )) With a suction of air, a faint purple shimmer, and a pop – the diminutive blonde appears out of thin air, standing in the well-appointed marble foyer of the grand mansion she calls home. The man-servant by the stairs bows deeply, “Your Ladyship is late, this eve – Lord Cinderbloom will be expecting you in his study.” Great. All those late nights partying in Dalaran, and I come home to being treated like I'm forty-five again... it's only EARLY evening and I still have to check in?
And why is it so damnably hot in here?
Slippered feet carry her down the hallway past venerable visages of the powerful men and women of the Cinderbloom name in ages past.
...When was the last time she even felt sweat? She hadn't stood in the Dawnrider garden all that long, and the weather had been nice.
Oh.
Last time I had an episode.
That's when.
Her steps hurry, at this realization... and as her head starts to feel light and swimmy. It's Khaz'ron – the little, purple Arcane familiar that bustles about her ankles in perpetuity - that shoots the office door open with more force than is truly necessary, 'sounding the alarm' with his own harmless Arcane expulsions as he spins in a frantic circle, just before the young woman rounds the doorframe, herself.
“Ann'da?”
The voice calls out softly, as if far away.
Was that me?
And in the instant before she goes boneless, there's a snap of metal, and a pulse of Arcane energy that slams into his chest – and her diminutive form drops as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut all at once. He hadn't been fast enough – he knew what that behavior from Ron meant, but he still hadn't been fast enough to keep his daughter from hitting the floor, limbs askew.
Servants rush, and the small familiar 'paces' in circles – but Lord Cinderbloom knows that popping sound. As servants and priests tend to her and move the girl to her room, he heads for a locked cabinet in his office to remove a pair of enchanted bracers, “Come on, then, you two.” He gestures to the looming water elemental in the hallway, and the little Arcane familiar she hasn't been without in more years than he can count. They're practically family, now... even for him. If the familiars weren't around... it would mean she wasn't around, after all. The shattered pair of bracers she had been wearing are already left in pieces on her side-table, when he enters her room – where mana is being siphoned from her sweat-soaked body in a myriad of ways already; mana gems rest at various key points of her body, glowing softly... casting her pale skin in that sickly blue glow he's come to hate, over the years. Mana wyrms hover over her in the canopied bed, circling in the air – dipping and diving above... feasting. And still, she breathes shallowly when he approaches the bed – his steps slow, as if moving with too much force, or speed, might set some chain reaction off. But it's not hard to slide the new pair of enchanted braces onto slender, sweat-slicked wrists. And as soon as both are locked in place... the gems at her wrists glow... and the fever breaks.
It never stops being harrowing.
It. Never. Stops.
And it happens more and more, with time. He had thought it was bad, when she was a child... but they'd gotten it down to a science, how to handle the constant overload of mana in her little body... they were always ready, now... but the raw Arcane energy was tearing her apart, all the same. It was going to burn her up from the inside like a lit wick, one day, at this rate.
For now... there was always an extra pair of stabilizers. All around the estate. At her work. At Magister's Terrace. Hells... half the reason the Magisters wanted his girl was for her power. The power that would eat her up, in time – but they just saw a battery, or a tool... or a weapon.
When he lifts one of her eyelids, her unseeing gaze glows too bright, still, but the stabilizers are working. A cool, wet cloth is pushed into his hand, and like far too many times before... he moves it gently around her sweat-soaked face, while pushing her damp hair back so she won't whine about it sticking to her, when she wakes up. They've been through this enough that he knows the routine.
“Ron.”
The little familiar is... hiding? Under Cassiopia's desk, but slowly hovers forward, as the master of the house speaks once more, “Did something happen, tonight, that caused this... surge?”
The little thing affects a 'slump', and spins in place before coming to a stop and reluctantly projecting an arcane image that plays back an orange-haired Elven woman in... rough sort of armor approaching the speaker, “I do not believe you understand the danger running your mouth exposes you to.”
“No, I don't think this other woman quite realizes the danger that running her mouth exposed you to...” There's some war between grief, and anger in the way the older man's brows knit back down at his only child. There is, of course, the impulse to boil the other woman's blood in her veins... but at the end of the day, what mattered was making the best use of one's time... and how much would there ever truly be with her? Hopefully an endless amount, as any parent might wish... but practicality and emotion alike insisted that his time and energy were better spent here at home, focused on what family he had left to him.
“My Little Phoenix... you've burned yourself up again.” He tucks her in, gestures for the Arcane lights to dim, and rises to head for the door, “Rise from the cinders, Little Bird. Shake the ash from your feathers, and spread your wings... there's still plenty of people out there that you haven't bossed around yet.”
Do not become a cult leader
ugh there goes my plans for this weekend
Anguish
(( OC: Lily Whitedawn, Blood Elf/Felblood ))
The problem was that Anguish felt like everything she lacked—warm, urgent, alive inside her... the thought made her chuckle - bright fangs, airy laugh.
Pleasure incarnate.
Who said demonic urges were ugly? She had. But they felt beautiful - especially in the moment. Especially with Anguish. It pulses down her blade, dances through her veins - thrumming, alive, making her fangs ache in a way they hadn’t in years.
Prey was close.
The crystal vibrated, resonating with his Anguish.
There.
She didn’t question it anymore - whatever she’d become, instinct came with it. Predatory. Certain. She could feel him: the once-Farstrider in the brush behind her.
“I understand the need,” she says softly, conversational.
She doesn’t turn. What could he do to her? If he spilled her blood, it would only make things better.
Let him.
She wanted him to: Look at her... young, slight, blonde. She knew the picture she painted.
Her back is yours. She thinks she’s untouchable.
Take the shot.
“I at least have an excuse for the bloodlust,” she adds, voice lilting. “You… you’re just wrong, aren’t you?” The insult does it.
The arrow bites deep into her side just as she lunges—twisting midair, hooves tearing into earth where he stood a heartbeat before.
But he’s fast - good.
She was tired of helpless prey. Screaming sailors. Weak cultists. Predictable kills. This - this was better.
The arrow burns as she rips it free. Poison sears away in her blood, and the pain-
Gods, the pain-
It coils tight with something else. Something hotter.
Rapture.
This is what the demon made me for.
Violent delights. Visceral beauty in motion.
The thought doesn’t unsettle her anymore - not when she's hunting. Anguish surges, urging her forward - hunt, harm, devour.
There’s something pure in it. Raw. Intimate.
Killing like this - close, breath to breath, eyes locked - it becomes personal.
She likes it that way - up close, heart-in-hand, teeth in your throat, drinking-down-your-last-breath kind of personal.
Magister Bloodsworn had known that before he gave her the crystal, and sent her to gather Anguish in the way someone like her did it best: by being messy. Creative. Hungry. Pure predator, no taint.
The way Anguish wove into the Chaos of her was a delight – when his voice resonated through that crystal, and half-coaxed, half-commanded, “Perform for me,” she wanted to.
She had already planned on enjoying herself.
“Whitedawn – you're quite the tall sprout now, girl. But what would your father think? We served together, you know. Before the Amani got to his patrol.”
She moves - fast, wings tucked tight as she crashes through the undergrowth -
And the words hit: her father.
This man had known him.
Another arrow-
She lets it come. Lets it bite.
Not a mistake - a calculated choice - because she sees it: the disturbed leaves, the setup, the trap he wants her to spring aside into.
She hears his voice. That’s enough - closing the distance is effortless.
Too fast to follow.
Anguish makes her stronger. Faster. Hungrier.
Good. It feels good.
It's clever, the trap – the second one that is. The one behind him, that locks every single muscle in place, as she does close the gap on him with that impossible speed.
Regret is a wasted emotion, however. Perhaps she even deserves this - rushing in like she had.
She holds his gaze as he steps in close - too close - and drives that Farstrider blade into her abdomen.
Slow. Deliberate.
The phoenix head on the hilt gleams in a blade of sunlight that cuts through the forest canopy - just like the ones on the blades her father had always worn.
It's a surreal, slow sort of moment. There's pain, oh yes – so much of it that her vocal chords feel like they're seizing, when not a single pained sound can crawl its way out. It's an eerily silent sort of torture; birdsong warbles in the distance, wind rustles and plays in the leaves... a lynx growls down in a gully.
The world continues.
But demons…
Demons love pain. They use pain.
Fuel. Pleasure. Both.
She’ll be free in seconds... she knows that. She’s endured worse.
Still -
A few seconds is an eternity, as the blade runs through her with that slow, inexorable push – and pierces its way right out of her back, when their bodies press close enough to mimic intimacy, as blood races down the pommel of his blade.
Endure. That's what Iloam and Jericho taught me, isn't it? Just fucking endure it.
It's a reminder. A reminder that even now, she can still be made fucking helpless.
In an instant, he’s on his back - darkness coiling around his throat, crushing, as his blade slides free of her body - and then into his.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
By the time the deed is well and truly done many long, loud moments later... she’s swaying slightly, his heart crushed in her clawed grip. The demonic form strains her - mind and body both - healing is faster this way... but she has to change back. Can't risk it. The Anguish. The urges.
Can't get lost in the high now, can I?
The heart drops wetly into the leaves.
Discarded.
She sets to bandaging herself before teleporting back to the city with visible holes in her torso – the nobility already talked about her enough, she didn't need to show up looking half dead, to be further humiliated in the streets. Caitiri was... old enough to hear the things said about her mother, and understand them, now. 'Whitedawn' would be her legacy too, one day... so she covers the worst of it as best she can, with the degree of blood loss.
The wounds should... heal on their own. She healed relatively fast on her own, typically; moreso, if she could harm someone else, but... he'd roused her ire to the point that she'd killed him too swiftly to use him.
Whatever. I'll survive.
Welcome to our new location in (Midnight) Silvermoon City! We will be located in the Gardens of Remembrance!
Lily Writings
I've been trying to do better about keeping track of my writings, and this is definitely not all of them! I lost pretty much all my writings from the original 2009 era of Lily, since the site they were on is long since defunct. I also used to use my main blog as her blog, before it went OOC, and I didn't do too well with keeping track of links to my own writing! So I'm still fishing many old things out of the aether. Expect this to grow with both old and new writings!
Mar 2019 - The Bridges We Burn (4 parts) (Breaking with someone you love/loss of found family)
Mar 2019 - Bright
Sep 2020 - Explosion
Sep 2020 - Invasion (ICC)
Sep 2020 - Mask
Sep 2020 - Broken (Shadowlands lead up)
Sep 2020 - Rain (Shadowlands lead up) Oct 2020 - Disaster
Oct 2020 - Cycle
Mar 2022 - Charity
May 2022 - Chastity/Lust
May 2022 - Temperance/Gluttony
Nov 2022 - No Title (Dragon Isles lead up)
Nov 2022 - No Title (Dragon Isles lead up)
Nov 2022 - Instinct/Neglect
Nov 2022 - Forest/Mortality
Nov 2022 - Children/Vision
Nov 2022 - Home/Unnatural
Nov 2022 - Endless/Infatuation
Jan 2023 - No Title
Jan 2023 - Fester
Jan 2023 - What's on the Inside
Jan 2023 - Year 6: The Burning of Quel'thalas
Feb 2023 - Love is in the Air/Weakness
Feb 2023 - Gluttony
Feb 2023 - Wrath
Feb 2023 - Devoted/Trauma
Feb 2023 - Opportunity/Eternity
Feb 2023 - Influence/Distant
Feb 2023 - Velvet/Consequence
Mar 2023 - Event/Recovery
Mar 2023 - Early One Morning
Nov 2024 - Haze/Sexy
Nov 2024 - Anar'alah Belore
Nov 2024 - Crack/Positive
Feb 2025 - Home Again, Home Again
Feb 2025 - Annoy/Holiday
Feb 2025 - On High
Feb 2025 - Suspicious/Salutation (Nobility misgivings)
Feb 2025 - With Great Power
Mar 2025 - The Color of Hunger
Mar 2025 - Turnabout
Apr 2025 - Aren't You Tired Of - (being nice)
Apr 2025 - The Only Thing That's Real
Oct 2025 - Direction/Languish
Jan 2026 - Anu belore dela'na
COMING SOON!
For more information, please see our FAQ page —> HERE!
It’s our first challenge of the year! We’re looking forward to writing with you all again, learning more about your OCs and reading your stories!
See you with a word list soon!
Anu belore dela'na
[OC: Lily Whitedawn (Blood Elf, Felblood), and daughter Caitiri Whitedawn.]
"And if the wards go off, where do you go?"
"To the safe room, I do not stop to look for you, or Eryth, or Minn'tha Ci. I just... go." The young girl sighs, and whirls to whine up at her mother, "Minn'daaaaaaaaa, we go over this at least once a moon! I know what to do if there's an emergency!"
Lily can't help it. She knows what it's like to feel like your guardian is being overbearing. But this isn't about etiquette, and which fork goes where, or how to act at a noble gala - and maybe she's a paranoid woman, a paranoid mother. But paranoia saves lives.
The tall blonde rubs at the bridge of her nose, and gestures to the nearby couch as she takes a seat, herself, with a sigh, "Look... Caitiri, you've paid attention in your history lessons, yes?"
The pre-teen picks at her pants, and shrugs, "I've paid attention... enough." Her mother can't help it - she never much cared for history lessons, either. "But you know the stories about Quel'thalas, yes?"
She gently reaches to tap a finger under the girl's chin, to lightly guide her face - and her eyes, golden from the Sunwell - to her own fel-tainted gaze. "Our history goes back so many years, it can be hard to fathom, sometimes. But even when our people looked quite different, the Well of Eternity was sought after by all sorts of beings. It is what drew demons here in the first place."
The girl's gaze slides up, unbidden, to her mother's horns, and back down to her eyes, as she listens more intently. History lessons are one thing, but... time with her mother is another. She wouldn't bring this up if it weren't important.
"And the Sunwell... it has drawn all sorts of evils to it, for its power. There were Orcs who attacked us by enslaving Eryth's kin. The Amani are always a threat. And you know about Arthas, and how he tainted the Well, and almost destroyed our people; how our own once-prince sold out to the Legion, and the Well was almost lost to demons. Even our own kin were driven out, the Ren'dorei, because our leaders wanted to protect the Well. All sorts of beings vie for power, and the Well sustains us... but it is like a beacon to all beings good and bad on this planet... and beyond." She pauses to take a slow breath, brows pinching - the next bit harder to speak aloud, "And I... have made mistakes in my past, too. Made enemies. Just before you were born... I fell afoul of a demon, and I was lucky to get free, in time. Eryth took care of you for so long, when you were a baby... as I struggled to get back to you, and be a family... and I have to protect us. This home. You, mindori. I need you to understand why I do this. Why I worry... why I see threats in every shadow - not just to our family, but our people. The Highborne have always had enemies... there have always been those who want what we have, or hate us for what we are. Our world is not always kind."
The young Elf thinks that this might be the most serious she's ever seen her mother - a woman more accustomed to smiles and games with her, but this... seeing her Minn'da so grounded is almost... frightening. It makes her chest feel heavy. It makes her feel... guilty for complaining about the safety drills.
"The Scourge sounds really... scary in lessons. How did you get away, Minn'da?" But that was the wrong thing to say, too - her mother looks away, and she can see her blinking rapidly. I upset her. I keep messing up, today.
"That's a story for another time, little one. A dark and trying tale that still hurts your mother's heart. It's only natural to want to know... being able to still see the Scar, watching the druids and shaman tend to the land... but maybe another time. When you're older. For now, just know that it's situations like that... that I set up so much protection for - and know that even those protections would not have stopped the Scourge. That's why the safe room has that translocation orb. If anything ever happens - you run there, don't walk. And you put your hand on that orb, whether you know we're safe, or not. It will take you straight to the Dragon Isles, and Eryth's own kin who came to know you a couple of years ago at the draconic daycare. You stay there, you let them know what happened, and they'll take care of you until we show up, or they know more. Okay? Can you promise me that, Kim'belore?"
She nods somberly. "I... don't want to leave you all behind, but if you say I must... then I shall. I promise it, Minn'da."
The tension in Lily's shoulders eases, and she ruffles the girl's hair, "Thank you, Caiti. Don't let me bring down your mood, Little Sun. You shine too bright, for that. I just need you to know how serious the threats to our people can be, when they arise. And it's of the utmost important to me... to Eryth, and even our Aunt Ci, that you are safe. We will stay and defend our home... but the Highborne, whatever name we use in whatever era... we've lost too much. That's why we call ourselves Sin'dorei - the blood of our fallen reminds us of what we've lost, and what we fight for. And none of us want to see any more of our people get hurt. Including you."
Those wide, golden eyes make her own chest feel tight - she'd never intended to have children. It was never in the plan. And yet... nothing in the world mattered more to her than this wide-eyed girl, now. Sometimes her nightmares flashed back to the day the Scourge came, but Caitiri is there. It haunts her. What would she have done, back then? But the weight is bad enough, knowing the real loss. She cannot dwell on nightmares - only on the future. And she would never be caught unawares ever again. She would never lose a loved one to a surprise assault ever again. She was stronger, now. Wiser. Ever-ready.
"Let's go find Eryth, hm? Shake off this gloom, and go enjoy the rest of the afternoon, mindori."
[Reference for Thalassian used: here]
Anu belore dela'na
[OC: Lily Whitedawn (Blood Elf, Felblood), and daughter Caitiri Whitedawn.]
"And if the wards go off, where do you go?"
"To the safe room, I do not stop to look for you, or Eryth, or Minn'tha Ci. I just... go." The young girl sighs, and whirls to whine up at her mother, "Minn'daaaaaaaaa, we go over this at least once a moon! I know what to do if there's an emergency!"
Lily can't help it. She knows what it's like to feel like your guardian is being overbearing. But this isn't about etiquette, and which fork goes where, or how to act at a noble gala - and maybe she's a paranoid woman, a paranoid mother. But paranoia saves lives.
The tall blonde rubs at the bridge of her nose, and gestures to the nearby couch as she takes a seat, herself, with a sigh, "Look... Caitiri, you've paid attention in your history lessons, yes?"
The pre-teen picks at her pants, and shrugs, "I've paid attention... enough." Her mother can't help it - she never much cared for history lessons, either. "But you know the stories about Quel'thalas, yes?"
She gently reaches to tap a finger under the girl's chin, to lightly guide her face - and her eyes, golden from the Sunwell - to her own fel-tainted gaze. "Our history goes back so many years, it can be hard to fathom, sometimes. But even when our people looked quite different, the Well of Eternity was sought after by all sorts of beings. It is what drew demons here in the first place."
The girl's gaze slides up, unbidden, to her mother's horns, and back down to her eyes, as she listens more intently. History lessons are one thing, but... time with her mother is another. She wouldn't bring this up if it weren't important.
"And the Sunwell... it has drawn all sorts of evils to it, for its power. There were Orcs who attacked us by enslaving Eryth's kin. The Amani are always a threat. And you know about Arthas, and how he tainted the Well, and almost destroyed our people; how our own once-prince sold out to the Legion, and the Well was almost lost to demons. Even our own kin were driven out, the Ren'dorei, because our leaders wanted to protect the Well. All sorts of beings vie for power, and the Well sustains us... but it is like a beacon to all beings good and bad on this planet... and beyond." She pauses to take a slow breath, brows pinching - the next bit harder to speak aloud, "And I... have made mistakes in my past, too. Made enemies. Just before you were born... I fell afoul of a demon, and I was lucky to get free, in time. Eryth took care of you for so long, when you were a baby... as I struggled to get back to you, and be a family... and I have to protect us. This home. You, mindori. I need you to understand why I do this. Why I worry... why I see threats in every shadow - not just to our family, but our people. The Highborne have always had enemies... there have always been those who want what we have, or hate us for what we are. Our world is not always kind."
The young Elf thinks that this might be the most serious she's ever seen her mother - a woman more accustomed to smiles and games with her, but this... seeing her Minn'da so grounded is almost... frightening. It makes her chest feel heavy. It makes her feel... guilty for complaining about the safety drills.
"The Scourge sounds really... scary in lessons. How did you get away, Minn'da?" But that was the wrong thing to say, too - her mother looks away, and she can see her blinking rapidly. I upset her. I keep messing up, today.
"That's a story for another time, little one. A dark and trying tale that still hurts your mother's heart. It's only natural to want to know... being able to still see the Scar, watching the druids and shaman tend to the land... but maybe another time. When you're older. For now, just know that it's situations like that... that I set up so much protection for - and know that even those protections would not have stopped the Scourge. That's why the safe room has that translocation orb. If anything ever happens - you run there, don't walk. And you put your hand on that orb, whether you know we're safe, or not. It will take you straight to the Dragon Isles, and Eryth's own kin who came to know you a couple of years ago at the draconic daycare. You stay there, you let them know what happened, and they'll take care of you until we show up, or they know more. Okay? Can you promise me that, Kim'belore?"
She nods somberly. "I... don't want to leave you all behind, but if you say I must... then I shall. I promise it, Minn'da."
The tension in Lily's shoulders eases, and she ruffles the girl's hair, "Thank you, Caiti. Don't let me bring down your mood, Little Sun. You shine too bright, for that. I just need you to know how serious the threats to our people can be, when they arise. And it's of the utmost important to me... to Eryth, and even our Aunt Ci, that you are safe. We will stay and defend our home... but the Highborne, whatever name we use in whatever era... we've lost too much. That's why we call ourselves Sin'dorei - the blood of our fallen reminds us of what we've lost, and what we fight for. And none of us want to see any more of our people get hurt. Including you."
Those wide, golden eyes make her own chest feel tight - she'd never intended to have children. It was never in the plan. And yet... nothing in the world mattered more to her than this wide-eyed girl, now. Sometimes her nightmares flashed back to the day the Scourge came, but Caitiri is there. It haunts her. What would she have done, back then? But the weight is bad enough, knowing the real loss. She cannot dwell on nightmares - only on the future. And she would never be caught unawares ever again. She would never lose a loved one to a surprise assault ever again. She was stronger, now. Wiser. Ever-ready.
"Let's go find Eryth, hm? Shake off this gloom, and go enjoy the rest of the afternoon, mindori."
[Reference for Thalassian used: here]
What We Owe to Each Other
[POV: Calinirra - Eredar, demon @daily-writing-challenge For the 2026 Bonus Level!!] What is the price of inaction?
What do we owe one another?
The cinnamon rolls don't have any answers for me.
I owe no one anything. I answer to me, myself, and I.
And yet, in what is going to be something like three years now, on Azeroth, I've never stopped to question who and what I am. My philosophy is that... I am what I am. And I don't mind what I am. I came to terms with it so long ago, that I barely remember the young woman I once was, on Argus.
I keep hearing these younger Eredar bemoan what they are, what they did for the Legion, and it's baffling, really. How can you spend so many thousands of years doing a thing, and not... adapt, or lose your mind?
I don't apologize for what I did, because I don't feel sorry. I don't regret it, because I enjoyed it. Even Hoxsha calls our former existence 'slavery to Sargeras' and my reaction is so visceral that I want to spit on her, in those moments - this woman I've come to respect - because in that moment, devotion rings true, and vibrates in my bones, rattling through my wings, and I feel hate.
I was no slave. Yes, we were tricked, we who joined first. Fed pretty lies, only to become demons in an eternal war - and yet, my devotion to Him was true. As real and passionate as any Lightforged who kneels to the Light - Sargeras was the burning sun in my eternal night - and I served him well, and faithfully, and I wanted to... in time.
My faith carved theirs right out of them - my faith, and my blades alike made them weep and wail and beg for mercy that would never be granted. I scoured their faith, and then I eradicated those who would devote themselves to standing against being saved. Being changed.
But the Elf poses me a question, and since he has earned my respect, I give it the weight I would to a question posed by kin that I respect - what if that person's gun went off, and a stray bullet hit... a young, nineteen year old Human... hoping to be married, and have four children... running a bakery of her own. Someone on the cusp of her whole life. Nothing but raw potential ahead of her - and what if that was stolen from her... because some slackjawed, brainless nitwit in Stormwind thought to start shooting in a brawl?
Well, what does it matter to me? We slew men, women, and children of all ages, over the millennia. How many futures did our Burning Crusade steal?
I settle onto my bunk, back at the ship, and look at that elekk plush that Terithu gifted me as part of his Tishamaat gift. The last time I grazed over this sort of thought was when Teri gave me that gift, and I couldn't stop thinking... that the last time I saw such a thing... was in the hollow, burned out husk of a city on Draenor. Some child's plaything... lost, forgotten, and charred in their... escape? Final moments?
I carved out my sense of 'guilt' long ago. Empathy? Long forgotten, cast aside; a vacuous echo remained in its wake, a vestigial nub that's easily burned away, should it poke tendrils out - the Legion had no room for such things. A Faithbreaker had no room for such things. You serve. You do what you must - you do it to save them. They're too frightened, too foolish to know any better, and they run from change, from flame, and you can't let the Void have them - and it begins to feel... good.
What use have I for a toy? For guilt? For shame? For empathy?
A child's plaything that only reminds me of all we've taken from the Draenei... from the galaxy as a whole. It doesn't make me feel guilty, is the thing - no, it makes me feel like I should feel guilty, and that... rankles.
And now here it is, in the moral quandary from an Elf, as he gives me sweets, and tells me they're from that not-so-proverbial baker he spoke of. Living her life. Reaching for her dreams. Achieving those dreams, those aspirations.
Once upon a time, that would have been a story with a happy ending that a young woman on Argus would have smiled at. But now... now what does it do for the cold, calculating predator she became?
It makes her... uncomfortable. This man stepped into a situation he had no reason to interject himself into, purely because a proverbial 'someone' might lose their chance at a future.
That sounds like something a paladin would do. An anchorite. A priest. Some stomping-about-Lightforged... and yet it's this rakish Elf in his spikes and skulls, giving a damn about complete strangers, and it's baffling. Incomprehensible.
And yet, it is not only action that has consequences, but inaction.
I don't mind being selfish. The futures of others are not mine to bear the burden of... in fact, roughly a decade ago... I'd have gleefully burned this city, and that child that would one day become this baker.
And yet, things change. Evolve.
It is a burden, to care for others. To bother with inserting yourself into the petty little lives of those who... simply don't matter.
It's beneath me. They're all beneath me.
And yet, I kept that elekk plush, and its beady little eyes bore into me now, with the weight of that baker's name: Casey. Nineteen. Living her life, because the Legion lost. Because a stray bullet didn't claim her life. Who will one day have children who won't know terror, and flames... no little bones in the ash. No stuffed animals left behind as the only sign that they once lived.
I don't owe a soul a damned thing - but perhaps that was his point. His assistance was never 'owed,' but freely given - and that causes ripples.
"I don't have a solution." The elekk's beady little eyes sear into my twisted soul in the silence, and I watch the stars beyond the window, instead of the reflection of my own gaze in the reflective beads of the thing's eyes. "I will never be selfless. I cannot... no, I don't want to change. I'm free... from it all, in my nihilism. Guilt, love, shame, pain... all the chains of emotion. The bondage of... what we owe to one another. I don't care about people - I simply don't. I find it false to wish others well even in parting, because I simply don't care if they fall in a Stormwind canal, and drown in filth on their way home. It's none of my business, or concern." The silence stretches on - an eternity of blissful, judgement-free quiet.
And yet, I gave that moral quandary weight.
I gave it room to nest.
And now I chew on it more than the sweet buns that Arax gave me as a gift... from that very baker whose life matters not at all to me.
For the ones that need it today
Surprise! We're doing a quick bonus level challenge for the first week of the year. No words this time, we're leaving it free-form. Write as much — or as little! — as you want this week.
Don't forget to tag us at @daily-writing-challenge in your posts and use the tags #dwc2026 and #dwcny2026 so we can find your work!
Athosh the dracthyr rogue on a mission in the streets of Azj'kahet!
Todays the day! Come on out tonight we have so much going on! (If you are still looking to vendor join our discord and select a booth and get us a menu! https://discord.gg/zWSsc6D7 )
Town Center, Founder's Point