[Athilea Majiri]

Athilea sat with her back pressed against the cellar wall, and her nose in a book. The large, open room was damp and dark, causing her clothing to smell of mold. She despised her father for the paranoia he instilled in them all. It was his fear of the Scourge that drove the five members of this particular elfin family into their self made prison.

Her mother was sick from the constant chill in the underground room, and for this the small elf despised him all the more. Her idiotic brother and sister clung to him, believed that he knew best. If they could only see what was obvious, if they could only see him for the fool that he was. With each passing day she grew to hate him all the more. By his own rules he was the only one allowed to leave the room, subjecting his wife and children life in darkness. He was a fool.

As unending days turned into everlasting months she distanced herself farther from the others. She barely spoke or ate, all of her time was spent reading moldy tombs that she had discovered in the cellar. A once bright, generous mind began to crumble into darkness. Athilea could feel the downward spiral start, could hear the raspy and somehow familiar voice that whispered horrible things to her, but she tried to ignore it. She slept less with each passing day until finally she stopped all together. Terrible, and dark thoughts from the most twisted recesses of her mind began to come to light, and for a time she was able to push them back.

Cold fingers of insanity seemed to be invading her mind, sharp claws trying to take hold and push her over the edge. The Blood Elf had no real understanding of how close to madness she was. The rest of the family noticed the change though. They began to worry when she started holding conversations with someone that was not there.

"Athilea, you know what must be done," the voice was harsh, familiar, but could not be placed.

Without realizing that she did so verbally the slight elf responded, "I cannot, and will not submit to these thoughts. Leave me be."

Horrified eyes watched the girl fight a loosing battle against herself. The stood back, afraid to move towards her, and giver her the assistance they longed to. Finally, pulling away from the others her sister, Lani, moved towards her. The others protested, but she would not be stopped. Unfortunately for the girl she didn't notice the bottle that was in Athilea's hand. Not did she seem to notice that the language constantly spoken in was not theirs. The oblivious girl knelt before her sister and reached out to place a reassuring hand on the troubled elves trembling shoulder.

The dark green eyes that looked up were intense with insanity. She was lost in the darkness of a mind that did not seem to be her own, all she knew was a deep, unstoppable rage and seething hatred. A feeling of detachment overcame her when she saw her own hands break the bottle and end Lani's life. Athilea was only vaguely aware of the warm liquid that began to coat her hand, the trembling and sounds of pain of the girl in front of her, all she knew was that the angry mind turned towards her brother.

She stood slowly, releasing the bottle, and attacked her brother more swiftly then could have been anticipated. A slippering hand reach to his belt and jerked the dagger out, cutting skin as she did. In a moment her brother was on his knees, his hands gripping a neck that now spurted blood. Using the same dagger Athilea ended the life of her mother as she lay on an unsteady and poorly made cot. All the while the girls mind screamed for the bloodshed to stop, with no avail.

At first she did not notice her father inching his way towards the door. She just stood, speaking to herself in demonic. Her body trembled with adrenaline, and almost every inch of her skin and clothing was covered in blood. Hair that was matted hung around a down turned face. Thinking that he was safe, her father hastened his escape, but was not quiet.

She snapped her attention to her father when he knocked a book off the table. His eyes were closed for a long time, expecting the girl to be upon him instantly. When he finally forced on of his eyes opened, a deranged smile played on her lips and one of the slender hands was engulfed in flame. Everything turned to blackness after she hurled the fire towards her father that ended his life.

Her mind was foggy and distorted. Often she was plunged into a darkness that stemmed from fits of blind rage that would not be controlled. Several times she had attempted to set the mold within the cellar on fire, but the flames always died quickly. The stench of burning flesh, decay, and blood choked the room, making it difficult to breath without retching.

Athilea sat in a corner, huddled and staring at a point of singed moss on the cold stone floor. She muttered to herself in a mixture of demonic and thelassian with what seemed to be an on-going argument that made little sense. The girl was young, confused, and afraid in her inability to piece together the shattered remains of her sanity. With this fear came frequent bouts of sobbing that inevitably turned into untamable fury.

A loud pounding that splintered the wood of the cellar door brought her mind to sudden, intense focus. The sound seemed to be a mixture of kicking, and being slashed at with a sharp weapon not intended for such a job. Whoever stood on the other side was either desperate to enter, or knew nothing of the horror within. She reached slowly behind her to wrap slender fingers around a nearby bottleneck. The warped smile that spread over pale lips could not be denied, or pushed back. She planned on another death.

It didn't take long for the person that assaulted the door to begin throwing their body against it. At last the wooden door exploded inward with a shower of splinters that brought with it the form of a Blood Knight that she should have found familiar. Caroth bit back disgust, and the bile that rose the instant he was confronted with the smells of the room. Wide, glowing eyes searched the wide, dark space, betraying a hint of confusion at the sight of his kins bodies. He paused his search to allow his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, and was able to pick out the slim figure that sat within the shadows, "Athilea?"

The only response to his inquiry was silence, and a look of non-recognition. Caroth took a step toward her, a question on his tongue when he stopped. An odd gleam in her eyes caused his hesitation, as well as the dried blood that matted her hair, and clung to her skin. With dim realization of what must have taken place as well as concern for his cousin, he crossed to her quickly.

The bottle slipped from her grasp and rolled harmlessly across the floor as Caroth gripped her arms and hauled her to her feet. He had not expected the fight she gave him when he attempted to pull her from the prison her father had made for them. He did not expect to be assaulted with spells that she had not previously known.

The sweet aroma of glazed pork stirred Athilea from the exhaustion induced sleep. Something soft was beneath her rather then the slick stone floor she had expected. Cushions, and the soft silken bedsheets that she had grown so use to before the cellar. The elf curled under the sheets, not aware of the dried blood that chipped in flakes with her movement. She even seemed unaware of the tingling pain that lanced up her arms from burns that had been caused in her rage.

Caroth watched her closely, his own hands horrible scarred by her spells. Silently he berated himself from pulling her out the day her idiot of a father took them to such a terrible fate. Instead his family lay dead, and the girls mind was troubled. With a frown he finally pulled his eyes from her sleeping from and set to the task of bandaging his wounds. Hopefully she would eat when she woke, he thought he she was far to thin, much more then she was when he last saw her.

Again she shifted in her sleep, slowly opening her eyes. The eyes that stared at Caroth in confusion were glowing green as was normal, but there seemed to be an hypnotic rippling effect. The color was ever shifting between shades of greens, lending it a similar appearance to the ocean. Slowly Athilea pushed herself to a sitting position, offering him a suprised smile, "This is a pleasant suprise, cousin. Where are we?"

The Blood Knight was thrown off by her pleasant mood, he had been expecting anger and likely another attack. Finding himself unable to speak his gaze was hard. He began to wonder if she remembered anything, but the frown that marred her features told him, "Where are the others? Where is my mother?"

Her gaze moved around the room, and her ears strained for the movements of others. All was silent. When she turned her eyes back to him the only response she recieved was a shake of his head, "Wha-" she began the next, obvious question when a rush of memories flooded her mind. Wide eyed and trembling her voice was a harsh whisper as she choked back tears, "What did I do?"

In an instance Caroth was by her side, gripping her hands as tightly as he dared, "It's not your fault. That place was poisen and I told your father as much."

Beginning to sob uncontrollably she leaned against his shoulder, unable to supress the grief and guilt that she felt. The memory that tore at her heart the most was the expression on her sisters face. Lani was only concerned, and she had died for it. It was difficult for him to look past the blood of his family, but he would not abandon her for a fools mistake.

Rose opened her darkly glowing eyes slowly. She was already standing, and in the middle of the Bazaar area of Silvermoon City. Frowning, her gaze moved around this quiet portion of the city, trying to figure out how she had gotten there. Her mind took a moment to register the sound of voices that drifted up to her from the pouch that hung from her hip, only adding to her confusion.

A pale, freshly scarred hand reached into the pouch, and pulled a hearthstone that had been specially marked for Blood Rite from it. This is where the voices came from, somehow. She listened for a time, but decided not to participate in the conversation in the end.

She walked quietly through the streets, her gaze drifting to the other Sin'Dorei with hate as they passed her. A few cringed from her burning gaze, which brought a twisted smile of satisfaction to her lips. The lust for seeing how much it would take to drive them over the brink of sanity cause her to form plans for luring some unfortunate soul away. She was no fool though, she would have to start simple. A drunkard here, a wandered looking for soft lips and a warm bed there.

A cruel smile played on her pale features, and she muttered to herself in demonic, "Oh yes, I shall have my playthings. I shall have my fun."

In an abandoned house located deep in Eversong Woods the screams of some poor, tormented soul echoed off its bare walls. Spiders scurried in disturbed webs, frightened and trying to make repairs. Thick layers of dust that had coated the stone floor was cleared away in areas by the passage of feet to the stairwell that spiraled upwards.

A man lay on the filthy, rotting covers of what had once been an overstuffed bed cushion. His wrists and legs were stretched out, tied carefully down to prevent his attempted attacks from landing. Bruised and bloodied eyes struggled to catch a glimpse of the elf that had lured him there. In Silvermoon she had been a temptress clad in soft, exposing garments. The cruel vixen had played to his lusts, and desires seducing him in a deadly game he hadn't know he was a part of. He cursed himself for being so weak, for falling so easily for fluttering lashes and the hint of pleasures to be had.

Rose stood in the shadows, admiring her handy work. His screams were perfect, the begging and confusion amusing, and the well of his blood from fresh wounds invigorating. The corners of her lips were turned up in an oddly sensual smile, and finally she spoke. Her voice deep but beckoning and soft, like a lovers touch, "Such lovely flesh and pure skin. A perfect tapestry, love."

The man whimpered and tried to speak, but the woman had already cut it out. She moved towards the bed and streched and arm out to place a bloodied finger on his lips, "Shh, don't speak. There are no words that can describe this moment, my dear."

Her hand became engulfed in flame with a simple spell spoken in demonic, causing his skin to welt and blister. He wished desperately for the blissful dark that came with unconsciousness, but she had thought of that as well. The potion she slipped into this drink in the city wouldn't allow him to sleep. No, she would have no interruption in her entertainment of his pain, in her enjoyment of his sobbing.

Her nearly black eyes roamed his bared chest and the lattice work of cuts already created as she thought of how to proceed. After a moment she pulled her finger from his scorched lips and let the fire die. Carefully she took a small, silver dagger from the table next to the bed, "Hmm, what do add next to this work. Any suggestions, love?" She paused just long enough for him to start trying to speak before she went on.

"Oh, I know." Rose heated the dagger between her forefinger and thumb until the blade glowed a warm orange and lifted one of his hands. His bright eyes widened as far as the swollen lids would let them and he shook his head frantically. The slim elfs smile only widened with ecstasy at his attempt to stop her.

She bent to examine his hand for a moment before forcing the daggers tip beneath one of his finger nails. The scream that followed was loud enough to cause her ears to ring, but her expression never changed. Instead she paused with the dagger still wedged beneath his nail to stroke his cheek gently.

"Such wonderful sounds, dear. Beautiful music," she swayed slightly as she forced the dagger further, popping the nail away. Rose continued through each finger, cooing at him softly, almost soothingly.

He was delirious in his pain by the time she was finished. The fragile looking tormentor had disappeared down the stairs after the last nail had been removed. The sounds of her rummaging through items that were strewn across the cold floor drifted up to him, though he could barely acknowledge it. He was lost in a sea of agony, on the brink of madness. As a result there were no more screams to provide her with entertainment, and to full her twisted pleasures. Rose was bored with him.

Suddenly her steps moved upwards again, proceeded by a disturbing humming. At the top of the steps she held her hands behind her back and tilted her head, her eyes glinting with derangement. The humming fell silent as she started to speak, "Now for the finale, love."

Her arms moved from behind her, producing a cruelly curved sword, the dark blade rusted with years of non-use and a lack of care. The young woman stalked forward, swinging the blade lazily. He didn't care any longer, he wanted an end to the pain. There was no scream this time, just the sickening sound of a blade cutting through living flesh.

---

The morning sun warmed her pale skin, and her eyes fluttered open slowly to greet a new day. She could smell the sweet, salty ocean on the faint breeze. The sound of the wind rustling through leaves threatened to lull her to sleep immediately.

With determination not to waste the day Athilea forced herself to sit up, curious why she was sleeping on the shore. The front of her silken robes were stiff and felt as though they were stuck to her flesh. She frowned and slowly looked down. Her slender arms were covered in dried, cracked blood to the elbows, as well as her entire torso. Her cheeks felt stiff with the sticky fluid and she stood suddenly, feeling herself down in a near panic. There were no wounds though.

Finally, realization hit her and she sunk heavily to her knees. Her body trembled as she screamed in horror. Tears welled in her eyes, cutting paths through the cracking blood on her cheeks when they spilled over, "What have I done?!"