I know I had another story going on, but frankly, I didn't like/didn't know where it was going, so I started this one. I'll try and add a new part every Monday (hopefully). Enjoy :)
-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --
As the swirls of color settled down, the canals of Stormwind settled in my mind. I really couldn't see a lot, it was mostly just freeze frames of junk that after awhile appeared to be my memories. I could see myself when I was normal, when I was in my funeral gown setting a floating candle down in the canal. How many times did I do that again? Oh yeah, five times. I wonder if someone ever did that for me? Okay, so technically, I wasn't dead but I might as well be. It would probably be for the better.
Suddenly, pain exploded out of my back. The old me looked straight through the crowd of mourners directly at the might-as-well-be-dead me (i.e. the me now). She looked at me with confused eyes and shook her head. Every time the old me shook her head more pain expanded in my back. Soon I was lying on the cobblestone ground of Stormwind, wishing more than ever before that I was dead.
And that's when I opened my eyes. I was laying on the grassy ground by a roaring waterfall which transformed into a tranquil river and a line of shrubs in front of the forest of trees, as if tyring to guard them. Laying in a pool of my black curly hair, I strained to get up. Nope, I only got more pain. I lied back down, wondering how long this was gonna take. I was also curious as to why I couldn't move, but I suppose that would be an easy mystery to solve. I looked around.
Over the year, I had lost everything I had ever had (that actually wasn't a lot) and now I was slowly turning to the evil that "had been inside me along" or some B.S. like that. Anyways, I was transforming. My hair, once a short aqua teal, was now a long, black color and purple runes and markings were getting etched into my skin as if by some unseen force. And, out of my back, I had grown large bat-like wings that were about twice my size. The same thing happened to a night elf once. His name was Illidan Stormrage. That name might ring a bell. He had lost everything, but tricked into a obsession with the Well of Eternity and ultimate power and whatnot. However, I was an orphan with only four friends, the love of my life, and a pet. All of which died before my eyes. So those in control of the Burning Legion decided that they should have a trust-worthy "companion" (I think ,"minion," is a better word) to conquer the Outlands and stand as leader. But they needed someone with nothing to lose, and hey, I fit the description.
Looking at the arrows pinning my decrepid wings to the ground, I wondered why I was doing this. Then I remembered my options: do it or we kill you. I should've opted to die. I thought I might try to move again but the holes in my wings sent burning through out my body. Hey, the wings are apart of me too. I had no idea how I was gonna get back to the Black Temple in this condition…
I had a fight at the Black Temple so I angrily flew off, some how got to Azeroth, some how got over Darkshore, and got shot down. I think they had been looking for me so that's why I crawled under the waterfall and hid. If I go back to the Black Temple, I'm bound to get the "ha-ha-you-deserve-it" speech. Dear Light, they're all like really obnoxious little siblings. "They," are the ones Sargeras put in charge of "pruning me to be a fitted leader," or, as I said before, some B.S. like that and "They" consist of these two ghost -spirit-type-forms-things of Archimonde and Kil'Jaeden and this dude whose been infected by the Scourge, he's supposed to be "representing Sargeras" or something along the lines of that. We live in the Black Temple seeing how Illidan is gone and can really have no say if we can live there.
I looked at the 3 arrows pinning my right wing to the ground. I leaned over to yank the arrows out but was bound down by my other wing. Quickly, I got bored counting the arrows in my left wing and that's when I heard them. They were distant at first but they were growing louder. Voices. They were speaking Darnassian, my first language. They were arguing over where "it" could've fallen, where it dropped. They thought it was "dead" and then a male night elf poked his head through a shrub near me and gazed at my pinned body. He opened his mouth to yell.