Scent

The moment the distinct "scent" of his arrival first assaulted her senses, the world shifted under her feet. Vapors crawled past her nose and down her throat, raising an itch as they descended into her gut, making it roil wildly with their thick and pungent odor.

'Nothing can beworse than standing against this smell.'

The pernicious, vile smell evaporates from lumbering, decaying bodies that marched forward to corrupt all that was pure and sacred, like a cloud of evil and death.

Her nerves were electrified and her muscles went taut, her head swimming with possible tactics and plans. The impending destruction of her homeland was a smothering heaviness that bent her shoulders with its weight. But it was not a burden. Duty could never become a burden.

Hope was present for a time, hidden within confidence, bolstered by a belief in victory and the power of good. She would rather die than watch her home descend into ruins.

Now she walks across the eleven lands—her home, part of her very soul—immersed in the very essence of the devastation; breathing into her wispy body the foetid stench of the unclean dead. With every step, she is constantly awashed in their suffocating putrefaction and rot.

In the throngs of her worst agony, she allows herself to be comforted by the feeble brush of a whistling wind. It carries her to the edge of the army, past their awkwardly, shuffling carcasses. Their beady white dried eyes swivel to track her movements for a moment before returning to their task of pummeling the land with their horrible intentions. Her mind toyed with the thin line between past and present, shifting from the gray, desiccated and cursed lands of the present to the vivid and grassy forests of her past.

A brief taste of the sweet-smelling honey of nature, which the decay of the Scourge had not touched, wafted past her before fading into nothing once more.

Normally, she stayed out of their line of vision, slinking between their black shadows where the stench of rot thickened. Now, she lingered at the very edge of the army.

With the wind at her back to chase away their rancid stench, she savors a few seconds' freedom from Arthas' foulness.

Until, a short distance from their next conquest, Arthas beckons her to his side. His desire transforms into a thrumming sort of urgency that swallows her consciousness, overwhelming her very soul.

She can feel his desire crawling under her skin. Their connection allows him to access her body in an absolute violation of her free will. With a flick of a finger, his thoughts override her own, sweeping them away like a tsunami across an island of sand.

"I cannot help but notice the position you see to favor in my army. You are one of my generals, not some skulking foot soldier!" His voice is cool, stilted and almost reproachful. Eyes roam over her face when she doesn't reply; silence is her only weapon to safeguard the independence of her thoughts. He casually flicks a finger and agony wracks her body, doubling her over with the force of it.

"What thoughts move about in your mind, I wonder?"

She forces herself to straighten and sputter out, "I was merely… smelling, My Lord."

"Smelling." He arches a stark white eyebrow skeptically, but she holds his gaze, hoping the defiance is subtle enough to escape his notice.

"You are dead." As if it is possible to escape such a morbid fact. "There is nothing for you to smell." There is a short pause, before he growls low and commanding, "Walk beside me."

She finds a place beside his stinking horse with no pointless demonstrations of reluctance- such audacity has no purpose in the army.

It is not long before she tires of having mud sloshed about her and levitates a little higher. The sudden close proximity to Arthas seems almost to thicken the air between them. It takes an enormous amount of effort to reduce her repulsed frown to a more appropriate standard, one that will not earn her another harsh bout of pain. He has no scent, unless there is any distinct smell that could be attributed to ice. It is unfortunate that she has developed the inclination towards Arthas' side rather than walking among his monsters, even if it is only to avoid the overpowering stench of decay.

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