There was so much blood. Blood on her clothing, blood on the ground where she stood. The song of blades and men clashing against one another filled the air and traveled to her ears as she stared at the battle, motionless, unable to do anything. A cry was lodged in her throat which was unable to free itself. Tears stung her eyes but did not have the strength to fall. This magic... it was not a gift, as so many had told her it was. It was a curse. All that it did was bring pain to those around her. It brought life to an end and left only death in its wake.
A girl clad in silver robes, tied at the waist with a black belt, came running to grab her shoulders and shake her. She would see her lips moving, but could hear no sound apart from the pained bellows of maimed men on the field below. There was a slight sting where the girl held her so tightly that her nails dug into her skin. Slowly, as she jerking of her body jostled her from her reverie, the bleary silence shattered like glass. Everything she had just heard was magnified by ten and the urge to cover her ears was strong.
"Come on, we have to go!" her silver haired savior shouted at her. She girl clutched her hand and tried to pull her from her spot, only to find it was harder than she first thought it to be. Using her other hand to squeeze her wrist and tug with all her might, still nothing about her budged. iCome on, come on. Walk, please! Try and move!/i Everything had dulled out again and the only thing she was now able to hear were the pleas of the woman who was trying to help her. Why could she not move? Why could she not remember anything before that point?
"Who... are you?" came the words forced out from between dry, cracked lips. Her tongue was dry and, though she tried to swallow, there was no saliva to wet her parched throat. A look of shock came over the face she was staring into that soon morphed into one of dread. A shadow drew close to the back of priestess just before a blade was pushed through her spine, the tip of the sword penetrating through her stomach and causing a growing patch of red to stain her previously clean garment. There was no sound now. There did not need to be for her to tell that her friend had been screaming aloud in hurt. Was she a friend? No memories of her came to mind when she tried to think of them.
The shadow gave the dying form of the woman a shove and she slid off of the glistening weapon, blood dripping like rain onto the dirt next to where her now lifeless form lay. She was wrong, it was not a shadow. It was a person wearing a cloak as black as death itself. There was something terrifying about the eyes she could see glaring out from beneath the hood. This person she was sure she knew. Nothing associated with this person had to be good. The feelings she had in her heart were not those caused by someone she might have trusted. Before any more pondering over who he was could be done, the cloaked figure swung his hand back and slammed the back of it into her face. Then everything went black... and she thought she was dead.