Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Eclyse Christian]

---

Morning broke softly in Malas. It was an economy of light that scattered diffuse rays across the windows of the sprawling house, and in fingers and shadows across the lawn. But the light was not intense, and it did not warm the wooden walls – did not cast warmth upon her cheek, but only light, as the shaft of sunlight painted her slumbering features. Whatever light wasn’t used immediately, was swallowed by the starlit abyss.

Eclyse woke with a start, and a gasp, as so often she did these days. She had grown accustomed to the shadowy features of the man who lurked in dreams and awaited her each time sleep claimed her. But in waking, she could never grow familiar with the panic – the instinct to fight. The anger that roiled in her gut and forced her from the bed with restless haste. His eyes – she could still see his darkened eyes even now as the hatred painted them black, and he seethed and drew back his bow and hissed. What she would give for a single moment alone with him. Despite the wrenching pain of the realization, her faith in virtue had still been unable to touch the cold blade of hatred that bittered her heart and hardened her against the man who had taken so much from her. And from Ashencrosse.

Slowly, quietly, Eclyse disentangled herself from the bedlinens and the arms of the one who held her tightly—instinctively. She brushed her lips across his brow and stood, taking a deep breath to stretch the muscles that still knitted themselves together again as she mended. The pain, as always, was acute and overwhelming. She held the breath a moment before she exhaled, and padded barefoot into the next room to stand before the mirror. Carefully, she untied and unwrapped the black silken top and painstakingly removed the white cotton dressings that covered her chest and stomach, tied in the back.

The reflection that looked back still seemed foreign to her, and sickeningly defaced. The scar was red and angry – still deep, and outlined in ever-tightening crimson flesh. It had long ceased to bleed, but it bled her spirit all the same. The shape and outline of a sword, carved from sternum to navel, adorned her – and filled her with the rage and hatred she felt inside. He had given it all to her – marked her as surely as madness marked him. And Eclyse felt sure that neither the physical nor the emotional would ever heal completely. She traced the scar lightly with a fingertip, watching her reflection, then closed her eyes.

From behind her, arms encircled her warmly. One around her waist, gently, and another around her shoulders and across her chest. His breath was warm and sleepy in her hair. “When you’re ready, I’ll take you back with me. We’ll fix it. I promise.” Eclyse opened her eyes and saw his reflection gazing back at her, secure in his embrace. Rythane’s eyes glowed a soft blue in the scant rays of morning that reached into the room from the door.

Eclyse nodded. “When I’m ready…” But her spirit clung to vengeance more than redemption, and her eyes gazed back, hardened by hatred. She wondered if he knew. His eyes, catching her gaze in the mirror, flickered brightly, and Eclyse sighed, secure in the knowledge that at least she wasn’t the only one.