Thank you to everyone who continues to review. I read each and every one, and hope to catch up on individual replies over Christmas. ^_^
Chosen
Mistress Aliandra stood looking out the tower window of the remote outpost where she had been stationed, journey book in hand. Her white hair shown in the candlelight, pinkish red eyes making her seem a demon. Aliandra had been chosen for the Sisterhood precisely because of her striking looks – the red eyes and pigment bleached skin that characterized albinos.
She was proud to have been chosen, proud to be Mord'Sith, proud to be special.
And now, because of the new orders from the capital, Mord'Sith were never to be chosen again. They were to wait for volunteers.
Aliandra's lip curled.
The most enraging thing was that the new scheme was proposed by the perpetrator of Aliandra's exile.
Jennsen Rahl.
"I will not allow our traditions to be discarded so easily," she said to the empty air.
-l-
Darken dreamt of the flames of the underworld – a vision that had not haunted him since the veil was sealed at the Pillars of Creation. All around him, people writhed, the Keeper's creatures skittering in the darkness.
Burning red eyes.
Do you hear the whispers?
He turned, searching for the sound of the voice, his robes leaving a line in the sand.
Can you see them, in the dark?
A flash of green, a great, sundering tear, and then he was shrouded in darkness, unable to breathe, smothering, suffocating, pressed in on all sides. He jerked, fought, opening his mouth to scream only to have it filled with ash.
His hand burst into open air, and he gave a great heave, pulling himself from a mound of earth.
Can you feel the dragon fire that consumes your heart?
Darken's chest burned, and he clutched at it, his eyes glowing green with the fire of the underworld. It split his head, choked him, scorched the back of his teeth.
He realized he had clawed his way out of a grave.
With every beat, I am closer. Can you feel my teeth?
Darken cried out, muscles spasming as pain rent his very being, tore at his han like a vulture pulling meat from bones.
Dragon eyes, and dragon fire, calling in your sleep.
Darken sat up with a strangled yell, chest heaving.
He was in his bed. Not the underworld.
Not a fresh grave.
"Darken?" Cara touched his chest, concern written in the furrowing of her brow.
"Merely a dream," he reassured her, placing a hand over hers.
He wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince.
