Exist
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Chapter 2: Twisted
"We call ourselves the Forsaken, for that is what we are. Abandoned by the soldiers whom we thought would protect us, shunned by the races we once belonged to, hated and feared by those we called our own kin, our only allies the brutes who all but slaughtered us during the Second War. Look. Look at what we are – at what we once were, and ask yourself –are we not justified in our hate? – Shathra, a member of the Forsaken
"Sylvanas Windrunner?" She repeated softly. "… That's an elf name, isn't it?"
"So it is, and it was the race she belonged to in life." Revlis nodded once. "Until Silvermoon was taken. There she fell, and was raised once again in service to the Lich King – another soldier to add to his countless ranks."
"… Then… then how did she come to lead these people?"
Revlis' eyes narrowed. "Something happened in Northrend. Powers that sought the Lich King's destruction cast a spell that shook the very roof of the world. And he began to weaken. Enough so that many of them were able to break free… their wills became their own, once again. As Prince Arthas –" Revlis spat the name out, as if to speak it disgusted him. "Turned and departed for Northrend, Sylvanas stayed in Northrend. She smashed what remained of the Burning Legion's forces here and rallied the free Undead." He blew out a long breath. "And thus the Forsaken was created."
Amelia frowned. Something about the way he spoke the story… "You… you weren't one of them at that time? You used 'them'…"
"So I did." Revlis smiled softly. "Even weakened as he was, I was still unable to contend with the will of the Lich King. Another year or so I was enslaved – until one day I broke free. By what design I do not know, but…" He turned and looked away. "Let us be grateful for what occurred. That is enough."
It was late evening, and as they walked towards the town square of Brill, Amelia couldn't help but glance around her, noting the appearance of her fellow undead. A few of them were horrific to look upon – skin all but rotted away, hollow eye sockets, loose strips of flesh dangling about their bones, being dragged on the ground. Other appeared like Revlis – they seemed to be largely normal but for several obvious signs such as a gaping wound that would never heal, an arm stripped of flesh. And still there were others who looked almost entirely alive – if not for the grey pall of their flesh and the eerie light that burned in their eyes.
In a moment of shock, Amelia realized that was exactly what she looked like right now. The wave of despairing emotion temporarily shook her, but she shook her head, willing herself to be strong.
"…Revlis?"
"Yes?"
"Um... our eyes…"
Revlis nodded. "Whatever magic made us also caused them to be such." He paused as he saw a puddle by the roadside. "Go on." He said softly. "Take a look."
Hesitantly, Amelia leaned over, peering into the water. Despite the murkiness of the image, she was easily able to make out twin orbs of sapphire light where her eyes should have been.
Trying to appear less shaken then she really was, Amelia drew in a deep breath and nodded to Revlis. "Inter… interesting." She managed.
Revlis barked out a short laugh. "You're terrible at keeping your emotions inside you." He said by way of explanation. His expression softened and he reached out a hand. "Come on. There're a few people I want you to meet."
The meeting point for Revlis' crew was apparently a hut near the far end of Brill, surrounded by several trees leveled off neatly into mere stumps. As she approached, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive.
Revlis hopped up onto a tree stump, using the added height to scan the surroundings. "Not here yet? She heard him murmur.
Clutching her hands protectively to her chest, she took a couple of hesitant steps forward. "Revlis? Maybe… maybe you could tell me more about these 'people' first. I mean, they're undead like us, ri-"
"Oh, there you are!" Revlis was looking behind her. "What took you so long?"
Automatically, she turned – and her eyes widened as she beheld perhaps the one living race that could strike as much fear into her heart as any of the Lich King's minions.
"O- orc…" She whimpered. She took a step back, lost her balance, and fell, one hand already held up to ward off the inevitable attack. There was no human alive who hadn't been told countless tales of the brutal savagery of these creatures – of how close they had come to ravaging all humanity, and wiping it from the face of the world. And now one stood before her, a massive battleaxe nearly as big as herself strapped to his back. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying the end would be swift.
A long, uncomfortable silence passed before she noticed that she wasn't being brutally assaulted. Hardly daring to believe, she cracked one eye open, then the other.
The orc still stood over her, arms folded, a towering mountain of green flesh and muscle. Were it not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, she could easily have mistaken him for a meticulously crafted statue.
His beady eyes were inclined so that he could look down on her – and to Amelia, his expression was unreadable. Not that it mattered. Trying not to make any sudden movements, she began to inch away from him slowly.
A screech of laughter caused her to jump, where from a nearby tree, a voice, not entirely sane, rang out.
"A – HA! Toldja, mon!" Arn'Jin was crouched on the thick branch of said tree, grinning devilishly, his amber orbs aflame with mischievous delight. "She looks at me, doesn't bat an eye. But when she looks atcha greenskins – she falls over!" He stepped forward lithely, landing on the soil in front of the orc.
"Hardly something to boast about." Gjoln commented as he leaned against a tree, watching the proceedings. "The orcs have a special place in the nightmares of humans." He shifted his gaze to the orc. "Or rather had, in some areas."
Amelia cowered, glancing uncertainly back and forth. What was going on? The two of them spoke of the orc as if he were and ally. But – but that was impossible – the orcs were foul, bloodthirsty-
She felt strong hands seizing her by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet. "Sorry, I should have warned you about this beforehand." Revlis said apologetically, gently guiding her further away. Turning towards the orc, he nodded. "It's been too long, Jiron."
The orc – Jiron – nodded once and returned his attention to Arn'Jin. "Well, you're still around." He spoke in a rough voice. "And since you're undoubtedly the weakest link in this tiny group of ours, I suppose that means our band has been doing well enough."
Arn'Jin grinned and waved an arm at Amelia. "Just got back from a retrieval mission, eh? Picked up a newcomer, too. Needed to be sneaky, too! Couldn't have brought you along, you'd have shook the earth with every step you took, mon!" He threw his head back and guffawed.
All of a sudden, the earth did shake. Roiling, it formed a hump directly under where Arn'Jin had been standing, toppling the undead troll over and sending him sprawling onto the floor. In an instant, Arn'Jin had tucked himself into a roll and found safe purchase on the soil again, one hand gripping a throwing axe tightly.
"That will be quite enough, Arn'Jin" A deep voice rumbled through the area. From behind Jiron came another orc – but this one was obviously old, his skin hanging loose in jowls about his face, his tusks yellowed with age. He seemed to be dressed in furred animal pelts – of what species, Amelia didn't have a clue. He carried no weapon, but seeing as he had apparently been the one to make the earth shake, she decided that adding a couple of steps to the already respectable difference between her and the orcs would be a prudent decision.
The troll shrugged elaborately and tucked his hand axe back onto his belt. "You always gotta spoil our fun, you know that, mon?"
"Ghun!" Revlis bowed. "It is a honour."
Ghun inclined his head slightly in a gesture of respect. "I'll take it you've looked after our little band of miscreants while I was gone."
"As well as could be hoped for."
"Revlis!" Amelia snapped, very worried and very, very confused. "Tell me what's going on! Why are you allied with… with orcs?"
Gjoln shot a glance over at her direction. "Is such ignorance among the peasant-folk common? I should have thought the Forsaken-Horde alliance to be widespread knowledge by now."
"Garn!" Arn'Jin spat on the ground. "Just 'cuz you had some baronetcy when you still be livin', you think you can lord it over us, mon?"
"Both of you, be quiet." Revlis snapped. Turning to Amelia he indicated that she should sit down on the stump he had been standing on a moment prior. This she did so hesitantly.
"The Forsaken, as a whole, has been in an alliance with the Horde for some time now." Revlis said softly. "Sylvanas and Thrall – that's the orc leader – signed a peace treaty. We fight together on the battlefield, we share resources, and in any land held by the Forsaken, the Horde is allowed to move freely through."
"But- " She turned towards the two orcs. "But why? Why would side with bloodthirsty, savage brutes like them?"
Revlis didn't reply immediately, turning instead to Jiron. "Hey, you hear that? She just called you 'bloodthirsty, savage brutes'."
Jiron let out a grunt that might have been a snort of amusement, but Ghun's eyes darkened. "She is not wrong to think of us as such." He said softly.
"You, of all people?" Revlis snorted. "Ghun of the Frostwolf clan? You never partook of the demon's blood."
"The shame is in no way diminished that I was not allowed to drink." Ghun bared his teeth, but Amelia could sense his anger was aimed at himself. "Had my chieftain given his consent, I would have done so – and done so eagerly."
Amelia's head was spinning. "Demon's blood? Drink it? What's – what's that supposed to mean?"
Ghun turned his eyes on her, and Amelia couldn't help but feel them to be… familiar, somehow. It took her a few seconds to realize that she had seen that look before – on Revlis' face. The look of one long stooped with burdens of the past.
There was a short silence and then Ghun let out a long sigh. "Yes, I suppose you have a right to know, young one." He walked over and rested himself onto another stump. "Yes, you should know…"
"Haha! We havin' storytime, eh?" Arn'Jin cackled and folded his legs, settling himself onto the ground. Jiron folded his arms, once again impassive. Gjoln glanced away, looking further into the woods. Meanwhile, Revlis walked over and sat down next to Amelia, eyes pensive.
"Once, not so very long ago," Ghun spoke. "We lived on another world. It was called Draenor by another race of inhabitants – we never cared much about what to name it, and thus we called it the world of Draenor as well. There, as now, we were a race of warriors – known to revel in the spray of blood and the crack of bone." Amelia winced at the mental image of a pack of orcs doing just that – and tried unsuccessful to remove the image of herself being the target of their bloodlust.
"The 'magic' we practiced was the magic of the Shamans – the great balance of nature. We respected and revered the world around us, and in return the Spirits allowed us to call upon them as allies – whether to strike down our foes with lightning or to heal grievous wounds with nature's power. Our society was at a noble one, in which none took more than he needed, where repayment of a debt went without saying – where all had a place in our clans." Ghun's lowered his head. "And then the demons came."
"They offered our leaders untold power, and our leaders accepted, with the sole exception of Durotan, of the Frostwolves. But it came with a terrible price. Our beings – our very souls, were twisted to raging bloodlust. The practice of Shamanism – the practice of harmony with the spirits of nature – was abolished, and in its place came the dark fires of demonic magic. We slaughtered the Draenei, bathed the land in their blood – and when there were no longer any foes to fight, we turned our axes and dark spells upon our own kin. Given enough time, we would have killed ourselves. The very world began to become tainted with the darkness – the plants withered, the wildlife began to die off, the waters were fouled." The elder shaman's eyes glinted. "And then came the dream."
"Gul'dan, greatest of the warlocks, was visited by a human wizard in his sleep. He showed Gul'dan a world. A world teeming with abundant life – plentiful water, great beasts that could be used as food, and perhaps most of all – a race of soft pinkskins living quiet lives as farmers and stablehands – easy targets for our murderous rage."
Amelia's eyes widened in shock as realization hit. "Then… then…" She stammered.
"A portal was constructed between the worlds, and we poured through. Around that time, the Frostwolf Clan was exiled for the knowledge of our chieftain – that the blood we had drunk was accursed, that our race was tainted by demons. We made our home in the mountains – and there we befriended the white wolves of Alterac."
"Still, with or without us, the Horde raged on, putting town and city to endless ruin. But the pinkskins – the humans," Ghun's teeth stretched into a smile. "Proved more resilient than we thought."
"Eventually, the Horde lost – the survivors were thrown into internment camps, and that seemed to be the end. Cut off from the demon magics that fueled our bloodlust, the orcs lost all sense of will and hope – they became lethargic, sluggish beasts. Pah!" Ghun spat at the ground. "Only Grom Hellscream and his Warsong Clan evaded capture – and only he and his clan refused to give up their pride, their will. They remained strong, even cut off from the hellish fire that had once empowered them. Still, a single clan does not make an army worth speaking off, and all hope seemed lost."
Ghun smiled, dredging up old memories. "And then one day, out of the blizzard of the mountains you humans call Alterac, a lost orc, stumbling with exhaustion, hunger and cold, came upon our clan of the Frostwolves. Around his belt was a swaddling cloth marked with the symbol of our clan. We later learnt him to be the son of our departed chieftain Durotan and his courageous mate, Draka. The two had set off on a journey to warn their old friend Orgrim Doomhammer – of the role the demons had to play in the Horde's history, and what would inevitably occur should the orcs continue down their dark path."
Amelia started at this. The name of Orgrim Doomhammer was not unfamiliar to her. He was said to be a demon on the battlefield, and even the legendary Sir Lothar had fallen to him in single combat. Somehow, knowing this made the history seem all the more alive.
"For this, they paid with their lives. Gul'dan's hired assassins ambushed them and cut them down in the woods. For some reason, they spared Durotan's child, perhaps thinking forest beasts would feast on the baby and save them trouble." Ghun paused. "But that did not happen."
"That orc was found by humans – and they took him in, raised him to be a gladiator in their arenas. They gave him the name 'Thrall' to symbolize his status – that of a slave." Ghun's eyes hardened. "But Thrall escaped. He went first to the internment camps, and was dismayed that the race he had always long to see – his people – were befuddled and downtrodden. Next he found the Warsong Clan in the wilds, and was overjoyed to meet orcs who could still remember their days of pride and honour. Finally, Grom Hellscream told him of the Frostwolf clan – and he came to us."
"He was tested by Drek'Thar – one of the few left whom the Spirits would deign to aid – and found worthy. He became the first of the new line of shamans." Amelia noted a tiny glint in the corner of the old orc's eye. "The Spirits had, at long last, forgiven us for our blood pact with the demons."
"And then one day, a stranger entered the encampment of the Frostwolves. He was grateful to receive hospitality, but he sneered at Thrall's dream of freeing the orcs in the internment camps. Angered, Thrall challenged the stranger to a duel, and won. It was only then that the stranger revealed himself to be Warchief Orgrim Doomhammer. He had merely wished to test Thrall's resolve, and he was pleased by what he saw. Together, they swore to set their brethren free."
Ghun paused to drink from a skin of water hanging by his belt. "The attacks went well – but in one of the many skirmishes, the Warchief Doomhammer was slain. With his dying breath, he named Thrall his successor, the next Warchief of the Horde."
Amelia noted that everyone else was paying rapt attention, despite the fact that they had likely heard this story before.
"We freed the majority of our brethren – and then the Warchief was visited by a prophet, telling him to depart these lands – to head for the ancient realm of Kalimdor. We did so, and there we found humans." Ghun snorted. "At first, we crossed blades with them – but then the same prophet appeared, telling us to halt. For the sake of all life, orc and human had to join forces and fight as one."
Amelia started at this. Orcs and humans… fighting side by side. The very thought of it repulsed her.
"Yes, I responded much like you did, at first." Ghun grinned as he observed Amelia, showing a mouthful of teeth. "The thought of allying myself with these cruel, heartless monsters-"
"WHAT?" Amelia leapt to her feet. "How could you – You're the ones who attacked and slaughtered us! You're the ones who-"
"Amelia!" Revlis' voice cracked like a whip.
"No, let her speak." Ghun said smoothly. Then, turning to Amelia, his eyes narrowed. "The first time any orc ever saw a human was when one offered to betray his race, and give us free passage to an unsuspecting world. The next time we met them was on the field of battle – and believe me, human warriors will be as cunning and deceitful as any orc if need be in order to eke out victory. Later, a king sold out his nation and his allies to us – and in orcish culture, to betray your own kin is a dishonour too great for words. And still later, when the war was lost, the humans who threw the orcs into internment camps treated my race as filth – daily beatings, barely enough food to live on, made to think we were lower than dirt. Up to that point, our interactions with humans did not give us much cause to think highly of them." A low rumble sounded at the back of Ghun's throat, and Amelia instinctively shifted position so she was further away from him. "We at least had the corruption of demons as an excuse – if not a justification. What reason do you have?"
"We – we… not all humans are like that!" Amelia retorted. "Many of us know how to care and love and… and how to look after each other."
"Yes," Ghun nodded. "And so I learned from our truce with the humans on Kalimdor. The Warchief, when raised by humans, had received kindness, guidance, and mercy from several of them. This helped him to accept the alliance more eagerly." Ghun closed his eyes. "Being forced into a life-and-death position with a human at my side certainly helped improve my own perception of them."
"The skies! They're burning!"
Ghun risked a momentary glance upwards at the fiery red of the sky – a second before he was forced back into combat against one of his own kin.
With a growl, Ghun swung the claws on his arm in a wide arc, tearing open the chest of the orc in front of him. The redskinned brute let out a yell and stumbled back.
"Weakling!" The roar came from behind, and Ghun turned, barely in time to see and avoid an axe blow aimed at his head. Before he could retaliate, a gleaming sword point erupted from the chest of the enemy orc.
The human soldier behind him yanked his sword out. "Pay more attention, greenie!" He growled.
Ghun was about to fire back a sharp retort when a cry came from around him. "Look! Up there!"
Ghun shifted his gaze back up, just in time to see what appeared to be a massive rock, blazing with green fire, hurtle earthwards.
Something stirred deep in his memory. He'd seen these before. Long ago… on Draenor… when the Warlocks had been granted heightened powers…
"TAKE COVER!" He roared hoarsely.
The Infernal slammed into the ground, creating a massive shockwave that sent many of the warriors stumbling to the earth. Ghun had managed to get himself out of the radius of the shockwave, but as he glanced back, he could see the human footman who'd saved him earlier struggling to get to his feet. And from behind came a harsh roar as the Infernal straightened up, standing tall. Eyes alight with malice, he began to charge the hapless soldier.
"Rrgh…" Silently, Ghun sent a call to the earth, asking it for aid. In response, the ground around the Infernal turned to mud, stumbling and slowing the demon. Rushing over, the orc grabbed the human footman and dragged him to his feet.
"Stay sharp!" The Infernal finally managed to struggle its way out of the mud, and with a renewed fury in his actions, charged the two of them.
Ghun growled and started to ask the Spirits for aid once again when the human leapt directly in front of him, sword at the ready.
"No, you idiot!" Ghun called, but it was too late. The Infernal swung down-
And the human barely dodged the fist, dodging to the side to ram his blade deep into the flaming rock that comprised the Infernal's leg.
"Hurry up with whatever magic you've got, orc!" The human snapped as he jumped back in time to avoid another swing of the Infernal's arm.
"Spirit of Fire, aid me now…" Ghun muttered raising his arms to the sky.
Abruptly, the green flames wreathing the Infernal increased tenfold in size and intensity. With an oath, the human, who had been preparing for another charge, stepped back.
"What did you do!" He yelled, but as he did so, the Infernal screamed, the flames now consuming the Infernal itself, searing through the black rock.
Finally, naught but blackened ash remained, and Ghun slumped over, breathing heavily.
"I suppose my age is showing." He mumbled to no one in particular. Glancing up, he noted with some chagrin that he and the human were the only ones left alive of their particular band.
"The presence of demons changes things." He mumbled wearily. "We should go back and inform our respective chieftains."
Not inclined to argue for once, the human nodded, and the two of them began their long trek back.
Night had fallen, and Ghun stood over the slight rise, watching the fires of the Warsong clan burn in the distance.
He frowned. Why now? They had come all this way to Kalimdor… and now the demons had apparently followed. The blood pact that once bound the orcs called to them again. He'd noticed the red-eyed ones – those who had partaken of demon's blood – becoming more irritable and snappish lately, as well. They had to find the source of the corruption, and fast, before-
"Hey, orc."
He turned. Behind him was the human he'd fought alongside earlier that day. "Yes, human?" He asked warily.
The human shrugged, scratching at the back of his neck. "Thanks for the save back there."
Ghun grinned. "And my thanks to you for the one earlier."
"Yeah. So, uh… what's your name?"
"Ghun, of the Frostwold Clan."
"That's… a nice name, I guess. Mine's Kardeth Siril. Say, I was planning on asking you something, if you don't mind."
Ghun shrugged. "Ask."
"Well, you see, some of my older mates fought against your kind in the Second War, and they seem… well, they seem rather surprised at the magic you folks are using. They say that last time, you were able to… I dunno, call dark fires, raise skeletons… that sort of thing. Not turn the field to mud like that."
Ghun nodded. "Long ago, before the demons came… this was the 'magic' we practiced. Harmony with the world and the Spirits. Now we have returned to those roots." It wasn't always so. Ghun had used demon magic before – when the Spirits had finally abandoned the orcs in their fury and disappointment. And even after he had rejected demonic practices utterly, the Spirits had refused to come to his aid. Only recently had he been able to converse with them once more. Ghun smiled softly. It had been much like meeting with an old friend that one had not seen in many years.
"So… you're saying that not all orcs are like the ones in the Second War?"
Ghun snorted and pointed towards the Warsong encampment. "See that?" He asked. "That is the corruption. And we who stand here now are those who wish never to return to that again."
There was a long silence as human and orc stood there, gazing down at a future both had resolved to do everything in their power to prevent from occurring.
"He was my first human friend." Ghun said softly. "Through him, I learnt of the ways of humans – of their nobility and spirit. Through me, he learnt of the ways of the orcs – proud warriors of the battlefield."
"Soon after, we succeeded in removing the demonic corruption from our race – once and for all. We then ventured deeper into Ashenvale Forest to ascertain whether the threat of demons still lingered – and there we met the night elves. We banded together to prevent the demons from overrunning the world – the Last Alliance, some called it."
He let out a dry laugh. "Four years later, and look where we are now." He paused and sighed. "Anyway, after the battle, we each went our own way. The humans in Kalimdor founded Theramore Isle off the coast – the night elves returned to the forests of Ashenvale, and we settled in the south, where Thrall found the city of Orgrimmar, named in honour of Doomhammer."
He paused. "And that's the tale of how the orcs came to be as we are today. After a while, our Warchief received an offer of peace between us and the Forsaken. He agreed to that pact, and that's where we are today: As allies."
Amelia was silent for a long while, thinking about what Ghun had just told her. Suddenly, a cackle interrupted the silence of the leafy grove.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Allies!" Arn'Jin grinned. "Allies, mon! At least until we finish our new Plague that'll work on all beings! And then you orcs be going down too!"
Then the troll threw his head back, laughing long and loud.
Several hours later, Amelia paused at the entrance to the room Revlis was in. He had offered lodging for the foreseeable future, and she had gratefully accepted.
Now though, she was plagued with questions. Hesitantly, she stepped through the doorway. "Revlis?"
He was hunched over a book, eyes flitting back and forth attentively. "Yes?" He replied.
Though it was nighttime, Amelia found that her eyesight was not in the least bit diminished. And apparently neither was Revlis – there was no candle on desk he was sitting at.
"I was… I was wondering about what Arn'Jin said earlier…"
"Oh, about the Plague thing?" Revlis nodded. "Anyone who stays among the Forsaken long enough hears rumours about the Royal Apothecary Society. They wish to make a Plague that will infect not only the living, but the Scourge as well. And the orcs are likely to be included in the species the new Plague affects, when all's said and done."
"But… but…" Amelia's head was spinning. "But we're… allies, aren't we?"
Revlis closed his one remaining eye – the ball of light in the other one shrunk down to a pinprick of illumination. "Who knows." He sighed. "The process of becoming Undead – and moreso, serving under the Lich King – affects us, Amelia. The scars run deep. Even one such as Sylvanas was likely twisted – although she probably won't admit it."
Amelia shook her head. "And – and the orcs – do they know?"
"Well, you heard Arn'Jin, and so did Jiron and Ghun. Their Warchief suspects the Forsaken as a whole, too. But he cannot, in good faith, refuse their offer for an alliance; more than any other race in Azeroth, the orcs know what it means to be held in thrall of the forces of darkness." He smiled a crooked smile. "And so it is a dangerous game the orcs play. A very dangerous game indeed."
Amelia wasn't sure she wanted to venture any further into the world of political intrigues, and so she changed tack. She noticed that Revlis was writing into the thick leather bound book. "What's that?"
"Hm? Oh, this?" Revlis patted the yellowed page softly. "I suppose you could call it my diary."
"A diary?"
"Yeah." Revlis nodded. "It serves… as a reminder. Not to forget what I've… left behind." He paused for a moment, lost in memory. Then he roused himself and looked to Amelia. "If you've no other questions, you'd best get yourself some sleep. Our bodies may be tireless, but rest for our souls can often be the more important of the two."
"Actually…" Amelia began.
"Yes?"
"Just now, you mentioned that being undead, fighting under the Lich King… it twists you?"
"Yes. Yes, it does."
Amelia frowned. "But it's – you don't seem very 'twisted'. Arn'Jin, sure, although it may just be normal troll behaviour. But you… I sense something different." Her expression grew wistful. "You remind me of my older brother, in a way."
Revlis let out a snort of amusement. "I'll take that as a compliment. He still alive?"
"… No. The Undead took him, although… at least he was spared the indignity of being raised as one of them."
"I suppose."
"But you haven't answered my question." Amelia shook her head. "You don't seem very 'twisted'… why is that?"
Revlis shook his head, turned away. "Best you get to sleep."
"Revlis! Please…" She said softly. "Please tell me."
He remained silent, staring away from her. Finally, he sighed and answered.
"Guilt."
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