Letters At The Door
The morning had begun like countless others: poor, fitful sleep, an inevitable awakening by a particularly insistent whisper behind her eyes, a silent evaluation of her surroundings, and then a muttered plea for coffee. Today, though, there was no coffee in sight, only two slips of parchment staring up at her from beneath the door. That couldn't be good.
Sylirae dragged herself to standing and dressed quickly, all the while watching the letters as though they would sprout legs and attack. The rogue heaved a sigh and crossed the room to scoop them off the floor - her wary expression hardened instantly when she saw her name on the first of the missives in Eilithe's handwriting.
Don’t worry about me and report to Reveria– I’ll be back before you can finish another couple dossiers.
-Eilithe
The letter prompted a single, soft expletive, and Sylirae squeezed her eyes shut as a chill hand gripped her heart. The Arbiter's words the night prior, her subdued demeaner, had all been attributed to Kurel's return and Dead Sun's toothsome venture. This, though? A shift in superior? No, something far heavier had been weighing on Eilithe. She should have seen it. The first missive was flung onto the bed and the second opened, Sylirae's eyes darting across the text.
Staff of Dead Sun, Friends, ...
That frigid hand around Sylirae's heart squeezed tighter, and she crushed the letter with a hiss of frustration. How could she have been stupid enough not to see something like this coming? This letter too was discarded, thrown onto the bed, and then Sylirae was out the door heading for the Chariot. Reveria would need help - she could process it herself later.
(@deadsunharbor)
