(As Kalistra Heartpride) 💔 and the number you think fits our muses best.
angst kiss :: not accepting //4. a kiss as a warning
LOYALTY.
Sylvanas treasured it beyond all measure, she HUNGERED for it. How many times she’d been abandoned, or thwarted due to someone’s lapse of allegiance. She did understand at times, while there were so many who wished to control everyone by stripping away the mind. To reduce it to its basic components. At times she thought of how easy this all would have been, had she simply been so cruel. If she stooped to the level of their old jailers, to masters unworthy of the title.
Yet she did not.
Her decision made these moments all the sweeter, when morality and honour mattered not to those that had devoted themselves to her. They overcame the atrocities others could not, and Sylvanas was not certain if that made her loyalists fools, or WORTHY of consideration.
The Banshee Queen chose the latter option for now, though her trust in them was not nearly as strong as their faith in her. No, she’d finally learnt the lesson, that no one could be trusted, save for her champion. His loyalty to her had seen her through nearly everything, and not once had he wavered.
At Dark Shore, he hesitated. Do not forget that.
A lapse in verdict, but not betrayal. She could count on Nathanos. Nothing would convince her of otherwise.
But he was not here.
Before her stood another.
A sin’dorei woman, pretty, with auburn hair and eyes that burned a bright, fel-touched green. She stood before Sylvanas with her head bowed, leather armour with hardened armguards and greaves. Her hair bound back in a tail, long bangs tucked behind ears that stood tall and healthy.
Kalistra Heartpride.
Loyalist.
“I am no longer your warchief,” Sylvanas stated, watching the younger woman. “There’s no reason to bow.”
Kalistra’s gaze rose, but there was nothing but admiration in her eyes. She trusted Sylvanas implicitly.
“You are the Warchief,” Kalistra responded. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind. “Saurfang lost, and you did not abdicate the throne.”
Sylvanas barked out a harsh, venomous laugh, “is that what it was? I had thought it a prison, suffering fools endlessly.”
“Your efforts have not gone unnoticed,” the Dark Lady commented with a smirk, “your faith in me has been… refreshing.”
All around Windrunner Spire, loyalists lurked. They hide in the shadows, they watched, they waited. Sylvanas’ enemies thought her alone, thought that it was only a fraction of the Forsaken that remained devoted to her.
They were so very wrong.
“Give me your hand,” Sylvanas took the appendage with a firm grip, removing the woman’s glove.
Her skin was warmth, healthy, fair. Fingers faintly calloused, but not nearly as much as they should be. The blessings the vanity of elves brought, everyone took great care of themselves.
With her other hand, she drew a knife from its sheath. She grazed the point of blade along the smooth flesh in idle thought.
“If they discover where your loyalty truly lies,” the Banshee Queen murmured, “you’ll lose your head. Old gods may distract them now, but never permit your guard to wane.”
“Where will you go?”
“Away from here.” She responded, glancing up into the hunter’s green eyes.
“But—“
Sylvanas pressed harder with the knife, cutting skin, letting blood run. Kalistra hissed, but found she could not pull her arm away.
“When the time comes,” Sylvanas effortlessly switched into Thalassian, crimson gaze lingered on the red liquid running so freely from the wound. She leaned in, pressing her cold lips to the cut.
Indigo smoke slipped from the banshee’s lips. It seeped into the cut, strange, otherworldly runes appearing on Kalistra’s forearm as the sinister magic mended the skin.
Sylvanas licked the blood from her lips, returning Kalistra’s glove.
“Your loyalty with see you through,” the words were spoken with a siren’s charm. Sultry and alluring, yet there was malevolence weaved in. A warning, or perhaps a threat, as to what may happen should the young sin’dorei (or any of the Dark Lady’s loyalists) dare to break their oath.
Kalistra nodded, though there were a thousand questions running through her mind.
“For the Dark Lady.” She vowed, bowing her head once more.
A pledge eagerly given, but easily broken.
The distant reminder was cruel but honest, Sylvanas knew that.
But she would not let any suspicion show.
