By now you’ve got word of the man you thought you knew. Sorry, doll, wish I could say it was all a lie. I’ve avoided you since I heard you were back in Stormwind because a part of me didn’t want to see that look in your eyes when you saw me for who I really am.
See you around, gorgeous.
Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward. Coward.
Seliras read the ‘letter’, she was presented with. Neeia had hovered over her shoulder in mild concern, but the half-elf felt the heat radiating off of the Bloodcursed’s body. The unnatural kind, the kind of heat one would feel in a wild forest fire, barely contained but bubbling to the surface. The spark was the piece of parchment she held in her hands, and the inferno roiled within her center. Was this it? Was this the part where she burst into flames and unleashed hell on the Wail and the bordering town they were anchored by?
“Sel… darling… what did his letter mean?” Neeia asked softly, studying the Siren’s profile with delicately knit brows. She had been distant still with even herself, the Bloodcursed’s other half a touch downtrodden in the cold shoulder. Perhaps this was part of it, perhaps she’d get an answer. Seliras was still. She stood in one place, letter perched in between iron-gripped digits. Slender ears twitched at the tips, the rest of her? She didn’t need to breathe, her chest remained unmoving as she processed his ‘goodbye’.
Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage. Rage.
Neeia slowly reached to read the letter for herself, but just as a hand had gently reached out in a silent request for the item to be passed over… it burst into flames. She yelped softly, ears flattening against her hair.
Seliras’s hands dropped to her sides, watching the embers flutter down with the movement and the ashes flutter into nothingness. He’d betrayed her trust. Abused the gift she’d shared with him to save his life. And now has the audacity to not confess to her face, look her in the eye and tell her the truth because he was, what? Scared? Scared he would earn her ire faster than a noose would?
His shoddy apology was nothing in the air now. Her expression hardened, eyes growing glassy and distant. Turn it off. Off. Neeia’s concern was a dull thud in the back of her mind, a chorus of blurred and slurred words that had little meaning to deaf ears. Off.
Her chest filled with sweet nothingness. Her consciousness was numb, cold, a delicious void that she could fill with whatever calculated monstrosity she could think of.
“No.. Seliras, sweetling— darling, look at me—” Neeia began, but the buxom Siren was already moving, already leaving the room.
“You need to come back—” she continued, hurrying after the Vampyr as she rose out of the hull and to the deck. Daron was stuck reading his letter near the helm of the ship, a pensive frown pulled to life. His attention was raptured by his Sirens storming to the top deck, Seliras in particular glowing like an ember ready to take the ship down and her with it. Neeia’s cries fell on deaf ears as Seliras continued, her hands raising to hip level. Arcane sigils illuminated in the air before the space before her tore open. She stepped through without another word, Neeia hurrying to Daron’s side.
“What was that about?” He grunted, dark brows pulling together with a tired sigh.
“She’s gone. She read the letter, and she wouldn’t talk to me…”
“I don’t think she wants us to try to bring her back this time, Captain…”
Coward. Coward. Rage. Coward. Rage. Rage. Rage. Coward.
The rift opened, and out stepped Seliras. She knew where he’d been by the signatures on the letter. She settled before his swaying body, left for all to see until he’d be collected and laid to rest. She stepped slowly up the steps of the gallows, settling at his side. Huckleberry West…. Weston Bailey…. An emotionless stare settled on his blue-grey profile, a hand lifting to have clawed digits snare his chin, tipping his limp head toward her so she could see the look in his eyes.
So she could see the frightened gaze of a man that didn’t want to die. She growled, a low, foreign sound coming from the Siren. Her index finger dug into his cheek, dragging the nail down. Blood pearled around her nails, falling down the side of his face to dribble over her arm.
“You’re lucky… I would have done much worse,” she snarled, shoving his head away from her, causing his body to sway again in the nighttime breeze.
“Rot in whatever hell you wind up in, West.”
( @huck-west | @theborderlandcoalition | @captaingreystone | @thesandrose )
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