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“Human beings are the creatures of desire. They twist and bend as I require it.”

Aleiah Sinclair by LacticWanda

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Aleiah

She woke up in a panic, as though pulled above the surface just seconds before drowning, her internalised screaming finally given a conscious voice. She let a long overdue wail of anguish rip through her raw throat until she ran out of breath to articulate her torment. Her fingers tightened into fists as she gripped the infirmary bed hard, the sharpened digits on her gauntlet tearing through the mattress with ease. The sheets were soaked in sweat and stained with blood and lymph that had long since congealed into the fabric. Alone inside the infirmary, only several of the lanterns along the walls remained lit to provide a dim illumination to the modest chamber. Across from her own bed, she could see where others had been treated the night before and left behind now-empty beds and discarded medical supplies. A roll of gauze had unravelled from its spool which now lay beneath a cabinet whose drawers were hastily crammed mostly-shut. Scuff marks and droplets of hardened blood decorated the stone floors, and indicated that whoever occupied the curtain-drawn bed near the half-elf's had many visitors throughout the night. A throbbing pang pulsated in her head like the rhythmic twinge of her weary mind as she steadily rose to a sitting position, her weak arms nearly buckling under the weight of propping her upper body up. She lifted two trembling fingers to press against her temple for all the good it would accomplish. But in place of comfort, she instead discovered fright. The breath left her body as the calloused pads of her fingers met no resistance, and sunk deep into a blistering cavity where her cheek once was. The sorceress' eyes widened and her pupils shrunk in terror as she was unable to pull her hand away, her body tense with frozen horror. Every touch felt as though her face still burned with fel fire, yet she could not stop herself from carefully and slowly tracing the exposed ligaments and shredded muscle of her mutilated face. She was silenced by her dread, too numb to even express the dismay she felt inside. With what little energy she could muster, the sorceress rose to her feet, staggering and stumbling at an enervated pace to depart from the infirmary. She wandered in her unbalanced stupor, bearing her weight against the walls for support as she found herself at a private room. She brought herself before the dirty mirror of the small boudoir, grabbing it by the wooden frame to stabilise her enfeebled posture. Her laboured breath heavy, the sorceress brought an uneasy hand to her face, eyes observing the hideously scorched flesh and mended patches of discoloured scar tissue on the surface of her palm as she turned it over. She glanced up, taking in the truth of her appearance in its entirety - no more glamours or cosmetic illusions to belie the nature of her most bare self. Dishevelled and matted hair caked in dirt and debris draped over her bruised, beaten shoulders. Her lips were thin and cracked and for the first time in decades, unpainted by a superficial enchantment. Dark circles framed her bloodshot eyes with deep purple hues and prominent veins visible just under the surface of her skin. The massive crater in her cheek revealed every subtle movement within her jaw - the flexing of tendons, the bulging and stretches of muscle, the secretion of saliva each time her tongue flattened inside her mouth. The half-elf stood before her truest form, expressionless, staring for a small eternity at the flaws she had long since disguised with her superior magic. Finally, the sorceress raised her hand once more and with a quick flourish of her wrist, she began her craft. The gaping hole in her cheek became smooth, sun-kissed skin, with nary a freckle to mar her flawless complexion. Her lips became fuller and softer in an instant, growing to the seductive plumpness most women would kill to have. A flirty shade of violet cosmetic faded into her eyelids, a black wing lining the bottom edge and extending to perfect length along her cheekbone. Rosy hues bloomed upon the apples of her sharp cheeks, presenting the illusion of flushed skin. Her raven tresses fell upon her shoulders, now glossy and sleek - not a hair out of place. Aleiah stepped back from the mirror, taking in her new visage. She turned her head slightly to one side, lifting her chin to examine the area where once a fissure was visible. She pressed two fingers tentatively against the illusioned flesh, watching it depress and plumpen like ordinary skin. Aleiah wrapped her fingers around the folds of her cowl, drawing it over her head. She took one final look at herself - no sense of satisfaction upon her face; no expression in the slightest. Wordlessly, she sulked back into the halls of the keep.

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Aleiah Sinclair - Fears

Italicize all that your muse fears

Bold any your muse dislikes

Do both to anything your muse is afraid of, yet enjoys

tagged by: @brendynthesquire

tagging: @kelpup

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