Prologue.
Alatariel was born from the rape of Silmarwen Vardamir, the High Priestess of the Dark Elves, by the Dark Lord, Sauron to bring forth upon the earth, his heir. Silmarwen died giving birth to this child.
Alatariel was taken to her father's forge in the crack of Mount Doom. Where, his blade cut deep into the babe's chest so her heart could be ripped out.
Then, Sauron forged a second ring unless its brother, the First should fail. Filling it with his anger, hatred and cruelty.
Alatariel screamed as the burning ring was forced into her chest. Taking the place of her heart.
The ring's evil power spread through her like a disease as she grew. Purging her of innocence, filling her with its darkness. Corrupting... Possessing... Driving her to madness...
She is now a young woman, and the ring is now her life source, her soul, her blood, her heart.
She lives and breathes the ring.
But on the inside she is already dead. The ring has burned away all that was good and pure, and she knows only of anger and hate.
Inside, there is nothing but darkness...
She is still alive though she dead within. Living, breathing... Waiting to unleash the violence that has lived inside her, upon the world of Middle- Earth...
And the only way to destroy the ring, is to destroy its vessel...
~
She cries sometimes, knowing not of the reason... When she feels like a frightened little child with the walls closing in on her... Suffocating, alone, trapped, afraid...
Her tears shine in the moonlight of the night darkness. Long black hair, gleaming like rich raven feathers, clung to her face with wetness and the howling wind ripped its icy talons through it.
Cold as death gripped upon a corpse, her pale flesh was. Glassy like tarnished black marbles, her eyes were, staring, empty and unfeeling into the endless abyss of darkness and flame before her. There was no warmth within them, but when angry, they blazed with a fiery inferno.
Her body is thin, almost skeletal, her face is gaunt and elfish with pointed ears... Her mother's ears. Blood red lips are mournful. Her teeth are like fangs and blood red nails are like talons.
'Go back to bed, Alatariel.' A voice that only she can hear, tells her. The voice had been with her always... A hissing, whispering voice, whose words are filled with evil and wickedness...
Of hate and of anger... And she obeys this voice, like an obedient dog.
She turns and walks from her balcony, to her room. The room is dark, lit with hundreds of black candles, incense smelling like burnt and decayed flesh fills the air. Withered blood red rose petals are upon the black sheets of her bed.
She lies down, and rolls on her side, in her little black dress, showing off her long legs.
The voice begins to sing a lullaby...
'Spill of blood... Slash of flesh... Chop of limbs... Burn of bodies... Gouge their eyes... Rip out their hearts. Pull out their teeth... Crush them. Break them. Tear them. Kill them.'
Alatariel sleeps with a horrible smirk twisted on her tear-stained ghost- like features...
'Goodnight Alatariel ... Sweet dreams.'
~
Alatariel was born from the rape of Silmarwen Vardamir, the High Priestess of the Dark Elves, by the Dark Lord, Sauron to bring forth upon the earth, his heir. Silmarwen died giving birth to this child.
Alatariel was taken to her father's forge in the crack of Mount Doom. Where, his blade cut deep into the babe's chest so her heart could be ripped out.
Then, Sauron forged a second ring unless its brother, the First should fail. Filling it with his anger, hatred and cruelty.
Alatariel screamed as the burning ring was forced into her chest. Taking the place of her heart.
The ring's evil power spread through her like a disease as she grew. Purging her of innocence, filling her with its darkness. Corrupting... Possessing... Driving her to madness...
She is now a young woman, and the ring is now her life source, her soul, her blood, her heart.
She lives and breathes the ring.
But on the inside she is already dead. The ring has burned away all that was good and pure, and she knows only of anger and hate.
Inside, there is nothing but darkness...
She is still alive though she dead within. Living, breathing... Waiting to unleash the violence that has lived inside her, upon the world of Middle- Earth...
And the only way to destroy the ring, is to destroy its vessel...
~
She cries sometimes, knowing not of the reason... When she feels like a frightened little child with the walls closing in on her... Suffocating, alone, trapped, afraid...
Her tears shine in the moonlight of the night darkness. Long black hair, gleaming like rich raven feathers, clung to her face with wetness and the howling wind ripped its icy talons through it.
Cold as death gripped upon a corpse, her pale flesh was. Glassy like tarnished black marbles, her eyes were, staring, empty and unfeeling into the endless abyss of darkness and flame before her. There was no warmth within them, but when angry, they blazed with a fiery inferno.
Her body is thin, almost skeletal, her face is gaunt and elfish with pointed ears... Her mother's ears. Blood red lips are mournful. Her teeth are like fangs and blood red nails are like talons.
'Go back to bed, Alatariel.' A voice that only she can hear, tells her. The voice had been with her always... A hissing, whispering voice, whose words are filled with evil and wickedness...
Of hate and of anger... And she obeys this voice, like an obedient dog.
She turns and walks from her balcony, to her room. The room is dark, lit with hundreds of black candles, incense smelling like burnt and decayed flesh fills the air. Withered blood red rose petals are upon the black sheets of her bed.
She lies down, and rolls on her side, in her little black dress, showing off her long legs.
The voice begins to sing a lullaby...
'Spill of blood... Slash of flesh... Chop of limbs... Burn of bodies... Gouge their eyes... Rip out their hearts. Pull out their teeth... Crush them. Break them. Tear them. Kill them.'
Alatariel sleeps with a horrible smirk twisted on her tear-stained ghost- like features...
'Goodnight Alatariel ... Sweet dreams.'
~
