Author's note: The following is my first WoW fanfic. I love the game, even though I don't own, nor can I pay for membership, so I wrote this story about one of my favorite characters, Sylvanas, I really feel sorry for her. She had to go through a lot in life, and then she went through some more in death. And now she has to deal with necrophile fanboys who draw her nude.

Poor, poor Sylvanas...

Also, this story feature two characters I made up: Colios, the Blood Elf Warlock who I play as on my friends account, and Cur, and undead Rouge who I just made up.

Before you read, I want to point out that I don't play the game too much, so I don't know a lot about it. A few things may be off, so forgive me please.

And now, for our feature presentation.

"I still think that this is a bad idea," muttered Colios. The Blood Elf looked over his shoulder, almost expecting someone to walk in and discover them. The Undercity always put him on edge - and why shouldn't it? - but today he was over the edge. In fact, he was clinging to the side.

His friend, the Forsaken Rouge known as Cur, looked up from his handiwork, his empty eyes filled with confusion. "What?"

The Warlock crossed his arms. "You know - this. Giving her flowers, telling her what today is... I mean, if she never even mentioned that today is her birthday, why on Azaroth would she want a gift? How do you even know that today is her birthday?"

"I checked the records," the zombie casually replied. "It just seemed like the nice thing to do, after all." Now, Cur was a member of the Forsaken, but he was still - at heart - human. And when he was alive, he had been something almost unheard of in the undercity: a poet. He wrote poems, sang songs, and talked about feelings of hope, love, and passion, all whilst rhyming cleverly. Now, some people called him strange, some people called him annoying, and some people laughed and publicly accused him of being homosexual. But most people loved his poetry, which he spent a great deal of time and effort on. So, imagine his suprise when he woke, found he was decomposing, and figured out that he was quite dead. Despite the handicap of rotting, Cur continued writing poetry, even though most of the undead found it strange, and rather annoying. His poems were filled with hope and joy, and they all lived in a dark, rather depressing world, where the only hope for survival was teaming together. So, happy poetry was rather useless.

So he had a pile of useless poetry and no one to read it. Well, almost nobody. Blood Elves were a little more interested in poetry than zombies were, so sometimes they would look at his work. Some liked it, and a few even asked him for copies. That was how he met Colios: the Warlock was a sucker for a well made poem.

However, he was not a sucker for something like this.

Colios sighed. "Come on, Cur, this is crazy. I mean, you really want to give her-"

"Done!" The zombie held up his word: a bundle of colorful - but not too colorful - flowers from Blood Elf lands, wrapped in a deep purple cloth and a black bow. The bow had a small piece of paper attatched to it, which contained a poem he had written. "It looks wonderful. She'll love this!" he said, enthusisatically.

Colios looked at the flowers that he got for the undead poet. What if he got blamed for this too? "Are you positive that she wants this?" he asked again.

"Of course!" Cur looked at his work, rotating it with one hand. "It is her birthday, after all. Wouldn't you be a bit upset if someone didn't give you a present?"

"Yeah, but that's me, and we're talking about bloody Sylvanas Windrunner!" argued his friend. "You know, the Dark Lady, the Queen of the Dead? Do you really think that she is going to like this?"

"Well, I don't think anyone has remembered her birthday before, so why not? It is nice to be suprised, after all."

Colios, not wanting the blame, but unable to tell his friend that he was an idiot, subsided. "Alright, go and give her the flowers. Just leave me out of it."

Cur nodded. "Thank you, Colios. I shouldn't be long." He turned away, and began to walk to the Banshee's chamber. He smiled at his friends words. "Leave him out of it"? That was impossible.

He had already put both of their names on the card.

He reached her chamber and found the usual security party waiting for him. Thankfully, being a low-level grunt meant he was constantly delievering messages for others, and he had delivered many a message to Sylvanas before. He just told them that he had a message, and they let him in, thank God. He couldn't imagine having to tell them that he was giving the queen flowers. Now THAT was a great way to get picked on.

The guards let him through without any words, and he entered the chamber of the queen, holding the flowers in his right hand. For some reason, he felt nervous: perhaps Colios' words had affected him in some way. Stupid Blood Elf. What did he know? Well, besides a good poem, and stuff like that.

Eh, whatever.

But that didn't stop him from feeling nervous when he saw her. Sylvanas, the Banshee Queen, standing at the oposite side of the room, staring into the darkness without a word or action, and completely alone. Good. It would be a little awkward if he had to deliever flowers and a poem in front of someone other than the intended reciever. She wore her usual attire, and carried her weapons, and she stood as she always did. To tell the truth, she seemed normal for once. Normally, she seemed a bit wrathful, but now she seemed just quiet. Was she sad?

Cur stepped foward and cleared his throat; perhaps a gift would help her. "Uh, Your Majesty..." he began.

Sylvanas turned to the Rouge. "Ah, a messenger. What do you want?" she hissed.

Cur opened his mouth and found himself completely lost on words. Well, this wasn't good. "Um, well... you see... I, uh... " He cleared his throat again. "I, uh, have... Oh, gosh, I-"

"Oh, get on with it!" the banshee shrieked impatiently.

Cur gulped, and then presented the flowers, his hands trembling slightly. "Uh, these are for you, My Queen."

Sylvanas stared at the plants, her eyes narrowing. "What," she sneered, "are those?"

"Uh..." Cur trembled. Colios was right: this was not a good idea. "Um... They're flowers, My Queen. For your birthday, today."

Sylvanas screamed loudly, living up to her banshee name. Cur shivered and backed away. After the screach, Sylvanis hissed angrily, "What did you say?!"

"B- but it is your birthday, My Queen," said Cur, keeping his voice low. "And, well... I thought that I would... "

Sylvanas turned away, angry. "My birthday. Wonderful. And I suppose that you want some sort of promotion for this?"

"No, My Queen!" protested Cur, but not too loudly. "I just wanted you to be happy, so I-"

"Got me bloody, stupid, damn foul-smelling flowers from Blood Elf lands!" hissed Sylvanas. "What else? A poem dedicated to me?"

"Uh, yes My Queen..."

"Idiot!" snapped Sylvanas. "You didn't think that this would make me actually happy, did you? Bullshit! The onlt thing that will make me happy would be if you brought me the head of that bastard Arthas and won the war against the Alliance for me, you fool!"

Cur was at a loss for words. Arguing would get him nowhere, except banished, and the Queen was always right: that was a motto many Forsaken followed. His head sank dejectedly and he whispered his words to her: "All I wanted was for you to know that we appreciate you..."

Sylvanas' tone softened, but only for a fraction of a second. "Oh, how sweet," she muttered sarcastically. "Do you know what today marks, Rouge? Today is the day of my death! Today is the day that I was murdered and turned into a freak! My birthday should never have come, because I never should have been bloody born!"

"I... Am sorry, My Queen," said Cur, bowing deeply. And he was sorry: sorry the Queen was so deep in her self pity that she was wishing to have never been born. "I should not have bothered you. I'll jsut take the flowers and-"

"Oh, leave them," muttered Sylvanas, turning away again. "Perhaps the stench will keep the rats away."

Cur placed the flowers and poem on the ground, turned away and headed to the door. But beofre he left he said, "My Queen... If you didn't suffer like that... if that never happend... teh I would not be here today. None of us would be. And that is why we appreciate you..." He looked over his shoulder, but she was still facing the opposite direction. "Happy Bi- Uh, good-bye, My Queen."

And with that, he left.

Colios was waiting when Cur went outside the chambers. A few of the guards snickered at the Rouge, and his present to the Queen. It was hard to keep things secret, when a banshee was screaming like, well, a banshee.

Colios patted the zombie's back. "Tough luck?"

Cur sighed. "Well, she didn't kill me."

"She just yelled at you and called you an idiot," finished Colios.

"Yeah."

Colios smiled sadly. "Man, I know how that feels. I gave a girl flowers once, and she yelled ay me too. Then she told all of her friends. And then she had her boyfriend that I didn't know existed chase me out of town."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, well, life's a bitch, and this kind of thing happens, you know?"

Cur sighed. "Oh, I don't know... She did keep the flowers."

Her? Sylvanas? Need a birthday?

Bull!

The banshee growled, her lips curling into a grimace. She wanted to forget this bloody day, and then some messenger she saw once in a blue moon comes in and remembers it! How irritating! She would have him demoted, that is what she would do! She would have him digging battle trenches for years to come!

But still...

She looked at the flowers on the ground. All of their colors against the cold gray floor. The care and effort that went into wrapping it. The tiny poem attached to it.

Sighing, she walked over to the gift and picked it up. She pulled the poem out and read it:

Roses are scarlett, and pimpernel's too,

Lilacs are purple and irisis blue,

Daisies are white and always quite bold,

So here's to the Queen with a heart of gold.

Signed Cur and Colios

She didn't know what came over her. It all just appeared. She felt loved, she felt respected, she felt appreciated, and she felt alive again. That Rouge had only given her flowers and a poem, but for some reason... it made her forget dying. It made her forget the torture Arthas subjected her to, and the pain of destroying her own city. She felt it go...

And then, it came back, reminding her that she still had a Lich to kill.

She sighed: even though she still hadn't succeded in her revenge, at least this was a temporary comfort. Perhaps she wouldn't have that Rouge demoted after all... Perhaps a premotion was in order.

Smiling grimly, Sylvanas turned back to her brooding in the dark, chuckling at the interesting thing that had just happened.

"Happy Birthday to me..." she sang quietly.