TW for depressive themes and parental abuse.
Darnassian:
Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender), a youngster and also can be used in plural.
Sashj'tar: Elven town located east of Suramar, one of many districts from the Highborne city of Vashj'ir.
Eldarath: Elven city, located far west of the Kaldorei capital, Elun'dris, southeast of Mount Hyjal. Partially famous for housing one of the first academies across the Empire dedicated to studying the arcane arts, such as the Mennar Academy.
Stareye
3 months later
The wholesome routine that comes with having a job or a regular activity can be sometimes more useful than otherwise—a fact Mylenne is starting to realize as time goes by, finding herself without anything relevant to spend her nights on. Having some free time to visit her friends or go hunting with Rak'shareh may be one thing, but merely the blink of a moment had just passed for her to figure out how boring her nights are becoming without having anything else to do.
Everyone seems to be moving on except her—having plans and big projects for their lives, or meeting new people along the road. Even Jarod had been sparing some hours from his endless work at the Hold to take Lady Starweave's sister, Shalasyr, for a couple of dates. Surprisingly so, for a dorei like him, but while Mylenne had been genuinely happy when he'd come up with the news a month ago, she also knew right away how harder it'll be for Jarod and her to get together more often.
Not being on the best of terms with Maiev on the current moment also made a meeting with the Shadowsongs far less likely.
However, regarding the topic of plans; Illidan's friend from the Moon Guard, Lothrius, had apparently found out—with a more than obvious source—about her fondness to sing; coming up with a proposal of rehearsing together so to see if they could get something nice from it. Yet so far, that idea had been the only one that merely had motivated Mylenne as for these later months.
That without counting the couple of escapades she had with Illidan; only the two of them, Shareh, and the morning Sun behind them—just riding, no destination in mind.
Probably the closest thing she'd ever have to freedom.
A soft longing sigh escapes Mylenne at the thought of those nice mornings on the road, idly wondering when he'll have some free time to travel together again. Up to then, Sashj'tar had been the farthest they'd got, although she'd already promised him to visit Eldarath—if and when Illidan could manage to earn more than a week off work, due to the many nights they'd need to get there—given his sheer interest on visiting Mennar Academy up south from the city.
An arm slides across Mylenne's shoulders, bringing her closer in a tender manner, a soft squeeze following. "What's on your mind, sweetie?"
"—what's on your mind, Lid?"
"Huh?" He blinked twice, still absentmindedly staring at her face, golden eyes following her eyebrows as they quirked up in question. For the course of a minute, he seemed to be somewhere else, too lost within his thoughts. "Nothing relevant. Just… enjoying the view," A smile crossed his handsome face, relaxed and genuine, one she hadn't seen on him for quite a while.
For some reason—and if for a fleeting moment—also a grateful one.
"Nothing relevant," Mylenne repeats, the picture of Illidan's smile lingering on her mind, prompting a similar one to cling on her lavender face. "Just… thinking," A shrug of dismissal follows, not particularly feeling like elaborating.
Hargo and her turn around the corner, the sight of Suramar Bay and the calm expanse of the sea prompting Mylenne to relax against him. The moonlight feels warmer and more inviting than a month ago; a brighter gleam from moonstones, street lamps, and the sky itself announcing the arrival of spring. Having dinner on a sort of neutral restaurant—right between the outskirts and the Highborne streets of Suramar—had also been nice for a change, leaving the pair to wander around nowhere in particular afterwards.
Taking a seat on a nearby bench, they share a moment of silence, just basking in the view of the sea before them. True to his easy going nature, Hargo leaves her be for a while, crossing an ankle over a knee and leaning further on the bench—the clear picture of nonchalance.
As the breeze toys with some strands of her violet hair, Hargo speaks once again—softly, merely out of curiosity rather than anything else. "Is it Maiev?"
"—is it Tyrande?"
"No… maybe so," He snorted, partially apologetic, gaze darting to the silent landscape before them as if considering his next words, humming in thought. "Actually, now that you brought her up, I think it is," A flash of confusion crossed his face as he idly fidgeted with the hem of her silken sleeve, appearing as if relishing in the softness of the fabric. "I haven't been thinking about Tyrande for quite a while," He then said, voice soft like making a confession.
There was a tint of alarm in his voice as well, prompting her attention away from the morning sky and straight on his scrunched features—Rak'shareh stirring slightly behind them. She patted his knee out of instinct, not liking the look on his face. "Is that a problem?" She wondered, a sense of uneasiness taking a grip on her.
"I honestly don't know," He sighed tiredly, but the motion didn't seem to keep him from growing more conflicted, looking hesitant to come up with more words. "But also, there's that: I haven't been thinking about Tyrande," He repeated more insistently, his concern turning into a worried frown, realization appearing to dawn on him, returning to glance back at her as if her face had the answers he needed, "How I managed not to spare a single thought on a woman I always believed I'd fallen for? It makes me wonder, have I ever loved her at all?"
She considered her reply, deep down knowing how seriously he'd take her words. "Maybe you didn't love her as strongly as you believed so," She said carefully, somehow torn between being sincere and not wanting to lie on her thoughts either, "Maybe she'd been just a crush, a nice infatuation to entertain yourself with,"
He glared at her, "Entertain myself—? You say that as if I merely know her name," There was a gleam of annoyance on his golden gaze, if very brief, "That's… I don't know. I barely remember how my childhood nights were before Malfurion and I met her. Tyrande had been on my life and on my head for half my lifetime,"
There was something he clearly wasn't telling her—an 'until' hanging in the air—but she didn't push him into speaking further, very much less so when it regarded such a delicate topic as that woman. "But everything's so different now. Ever since she… chose my brother," A small wince followed, "Nothing has really been the same. I changed, that's true, but so did she. I just can't help with thinking—"
"—how much a person can change?" Mylenne wonders out loud, glancing at the starry sky with some sort of intent; silver eyes narrowing, nearly searching for something she's not certainly sure she'd find in any constellation.
Hargo follows her gaze, apparently pondering over her question. "It depends on the eyes, I guess," He says solemnly, worrying his dark lower lip ever so slightly—a tick Mylenne had grown used to see on him whenever he seemed unsure of his words. A silent moment later, he settles for one of his signature shrugs, natural and nonchalant as ever, "Sometimes it's us who actually change, while we'd believe it's the rest,"
Mylenne hums in thought, partially agreeing with his statement, leaning a little to the side to face him properly. "And you think I've changed?"
Imitating her posture, Hargo seems to study her wondering features for a minute. "Taking it from the first time I've met you… yes. Yes, you have," An easygoing smile crosses his face, an endearing gleam on his soft golden gaze, "And for quite good, I dare say. You're not that lonely anymore, for starters. Even managed to gather a very diverse group of dorei around you—Sisters, jesters, nobles, musicians, spies…"
"Sorcerers," She can't help with deadpanning.
A warm chuckle escapes him, prompting Mylenne to idly glance at his dark lips as they move; Hargo's smile and laughter, two of his most attractive features. Certainly not as charming as Illidan's—most likely not close to making her knees wobble when that smile is directed only at her—yet quite appealing regardless, alluring in its own unique way. "… Did you see yourself tagging along with Sorcerers? Do you think differently of us now?"
His light voice—a sheer contrast of the deep, baritone one crossing her thoughts—brings Mylenne out of her small reverie. "I guess I do?" She admits with a shrug, the midnight-black sleeves covering her shoulders leaning down her arms a couple of inches with the motion, "At least, not as a near menace as I once was inclined to believe,"
Hargo hums in admission, bringing one of her sleeves back to their proper place in a tender manner. "Then maybe you did change, sweetie,"
As their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, Hargo's smile widens into a full grin, yet Mylenne doesn't feel like smiling back, her gaze dropping elsewhere. While she's positive he wouldn't ever judge her—and if she gives it a second thought, that's the very first thing that made her fall for him in the first place—it's at particularly doubtful moments like those when she can't help but secretly wish for the exact opposite. And she hadn't been feeling fine with it, but Hargo's ability to not bring anything into an argument or even a constructive debate had started to, somehow, upset her as of late.
Mylenne has always been more inclined to prefer having discussions or debates, finding a certain sense of personal growth when hearing opinions from different points of view. 'Two heads think better than one', her uncle had always said when she was a child, a statement she'd taken true and inevitably stick with as she grew up. However—and unlike Illidan… again—Hargo's compassionate and caring nature, pairing up with his apparent inability to retort anything back, can bring her frustrations and growing headaches more often than not.
Hargo always gives her the kindest of words, but Mylenne craves for honesty, for truth. And truth isn't kind, in most cases.
A tired sigh leaves her lilac lips, pursing while her eyes shut close, struggling to not look as frustrated as she's growing to be. "Maiev hasn't changed," A slight bitter tone in Mylenne's voice gives her away, one of Hargo's thin cobalt eyebrows quirking up in curiosity. "She still hasn't come to tolerate you or Illidan. Not even Lothrius, and we both know he's just as harmless as a cub," She wants to snort as if to lighten the mood, but all that comes out is a funny wheeze; unease and concern already pooling around her gut. "That worries me…"
Hargo scoots closer when her face scrunches, surely knowing she may be in need of some comfort, cradling one of her hands in his and making them rest in his lap. "You think she will sooner or later make you choose between us and her, isn't it?" Comes his guessing, and while Mylenne hesitates for a moment, eventually she settles for nodding, if with some reluctance. "Mmh, I imagined so. Can't help with feeling sorry for her, though,"
His last comment prompts her attention back to his pensive face, violet brows cinching, "Huh? How so?"
Surprisingly—and with some concern from Mylenne's part—it's him who looks away from her, glancing at the starry sky before them with all the serenity in the world. "Well, from what I've seen, you already made your choice a little while ago, Myl…" Hargo points out, relaxing further on the bench.
Mylenne tries to keep her breath from hitching, although it's not much she can really do as a sense of discomfort takes a grip of her, batting her hand away from his lap in an act of reflex. There's no need from Hargo to be more explicit as his comment clings above them both, the meaning more than obvious.
She feels entitled to say something back, but she can't figure out a proper excuse before Hargo shakes his head. "Look, sweetie, you have absolutely no need to lie to me. I'm not stupid, I know you've been thinking about him probably for the whole dinner," She doesn't have the faintest idea how Hargo manages to keep that soft smile on his face while he speaks, how he still appears so collected and serene as always—being just as incredible as much as deeply concerning. "I've grown to know that smile on your face when you do so. And you think about him even more often than you realize," A knowing look crosses his golden gaze as he faces her once again, "You talk in your sleep, did you know that?"
Her heart misses a beat for a fleeting moment. He knows, he's always known—probably even before herself.
Mylenne begins feeling torn between sorely wanting to wipe out that smile off his face, start a rant or deny absolutely everything until her dying night. "How can you say that, Hargo? I mean, dear Goddess…" She shoots an incredulous look at him, a mix of frustration, uneasiness, and a certain panic assaulting her altogether—almost not believing his collected attitude. "How can you say that to my face and not be upset about it?"
His easygoing smile drops, if slightly, a flash of confusion crossing his golden gaze, "Why would I be upset? As far as I know, I am the one you still bring into your sheets," Hargo says solemnly—too honestly, too blatantly, even when it's been exactly what she'd been looking forward to hearing—remarking the obvious.
For the matter, his observation only works for Mylenne to, then, grow offended, "Now you speak as if I'm using you to warm my bed, which sounds even worse!" She exclaims, eyes blowing wide and flinching away in an unconscious manner, definitely unable to take that amount of sincerity from him.
But then, when a regular dorei within their common sense would defend themselves or bark something back at her, Hargo's features soften once more, returning to take her hand between his tenderly, lovingly. "You forget I always had the chance to decide against it and walk away, but still, here I am," His signature smile is open and inviting, warm eyes searching for her face as one of his hands cradles her cheek—with a certain carefulness, tentative even, "And I will be here for as long as you'll have me," Hargo declares, a thumb delicately brushing her cheekbone.
"You have… something," He made a vague gesture to his face, a moment later opting otherwise and leaning closer to her, wiping some moonberry jam off the corner of her lilac mouth with a knuckle. "There," A small giggle escaped her, apparently prompting an amused smirk to cling to him, not helping with that faint blush that had started to creep on her cheeks with the motion.
They stared at each other for the whole course of a minute—or an entire night, perhaps, she didn't care—just smiling, basking on the familiar and comfortable sight of the other, no words really needed. It didn't take long for his handsome face to shift and a sly smirk to appear, a playful gleam adorning his golden gaze, even more beautiful with the reflection of the evening Moon upon them.
His hand never dropped, instead, climbed to cup her flushing cheek, a grin plastered all over his face. Her gaze traveled to his dark lips in an unconscious manner, the provocative curve of his mouth nearly screaming for her attention. "You know, if you want me to kiss you, you just need to say so…" He said sultrily, ever so slowly, fingertips teasingly brushing the line of her jaw as he leaned closer.
Something on her stomach did a funny flip—if for the smell of what was left of their picnic below or his breath fanning her mouth, she couldn't guess. It didn't take much for her to explode in a fit of nervous laughter, however. "Oh, for Elune's sake!" She pushed him away by the face, her own completely flushed, sending him to fall on his back over the cerulean grass.
He didn't seem to mind, looking smug as ever as they shared a contagious laugh, a set of sharp teeth showing behind his dark lips, resting his weight on his elbows as best as he could—not as easy as it seemed so, chest heaving under his open vest as he cackled wholeheartedly. "Once a charmer, always a charmer, isn't it?" She remarked in a mocking tone, returning to chew another slice of bread.
His grin never faltered, "I could say the same thing to you," He shrugged nonchalantly, throwing a wink before relaxing further on the grass, supporting his head with a fist and appearing quite content with just watching her. "And when did I stop?"
Mylenne's eyes droop close, swallowing hard as the ice cold sensation of sheer shame appears to be dangerously close to overtaking all her senses. It comes to be embarrassing to even look Hargo in the eye, very much less so after what he just said; for he's right, Hargo is so right and it's the blatant truth she's been dodging and avoiding for so very long, a fact she still doesn't have the strength to acknowledge true.
And how would she? She's been selfish, dishonest, shameful, disgraceful for so long; the irony of it all falling upon her as if a slap on the face. Missing, near longing just for the mere company of one man, but sharing her days and her bed with another—in truth, she's the most horrible of dorei. She doesn't deserve someone as Hargo, she's not worthy of a man such as him by a single inch.
But, for that matter, she doesn't deserve a friend and a man such as Illidan either.
Her ears twitch and curve upwards at the sound of a pair of wings flopping close to where they are, spotting a familiar lavender owl flying towards them. Obliging as he always is, Hargo outstretches a clothed forearm to allow Normosh'el to land over; Mylenne still not daring to meet his face, her gaze forcefully intent on her owl as she takes the letter he brings, a sigh of evident defeat leaving her after noticing the sigil of House Stareye.
"Maybe some of us don't really get to choose…" She laments, her voice merely a whisper, somehow in between not really sure what, of all things, she's giving up for—most likely all of it.
The letter is short and to the point, however, thankfully not bringing her more disgusts than what she's already accounting for, her father's sign even longer than the letter's content.
"I am home. You better have a good explanation for this.
Lord Desdel of House Stareye, Commander of the Rooksguard."
Hargo only clicks his tongue in dismissal, "And I dare call you wrong on that, sweetie. There is always a choice," He states with a surprising conviction, firm and secure, not appearing to be allowing a negative on the matter. "It only seems that, in your case, you're just running out of time to make one…"
The Manor feels overwhelmingly big while she strides across the empty hallways, odd layers of dust covering the carpets, broken decoration spread around and about, big windows and furniture. Abandoned and shallow, that's how her house looks and feels like; precisely how her uncle and Mylenne's friends had left it some months back during Silgryn's ransack.
The doors of the main hall make a weird noise as she opens them and saunters in, Lord Desdel's shadow giving away his lone presence; nearly occupying half the hall, huge and ominous thanks to the reflection of the dim fireplace. Her father doesn't face her right away, appearing to be contemplating the small flickering flames before him, his back turned to her and dark fur cloak resting on one arm—surely to prevent it from getting dirtier than what already looks like.
Mylenne merely ventures into the room, somehow not daring even to breathe, already bracing for the lecture that's about to come, her stomach churning and heart racing in apprehension. Lord Stareye doesn't look at her right away, merely showing a portion of his face as a way to acknowledge her presence. "You really take me for an idiot, isn't it?"
She can't help with startling when his deep voice echoes across the big hall, her breath hitching as he turns and faces her. "Of course not, An'da," It's the only reply she can come with, not really finding her voice and her throat feeling like closing as Lord Desdel approaches her, just as menacing as the nightsaber he's popularly called—notoriously and fittingly so. "I have no idea what happened here, I—"
A deep growl cuts off whatever excuse she tries to elaborate, his broad figure looming over her in a moment's notice, silver eyes blazing. "Look at your father when you address him," Mylenne tries to come up with something else to say, but only a gasp escapes her as Lord Desdel grabs her by the chin, forcefully making her face him. "You know you're a horrible liar, don't you, child?" His gaze bores into her furiously, a long nail pressing onto her cheek, "Let's say I believe for a moment you weren't here. So, it was the insolent of your uncle,"
His voice is so calm and collected, yet it does its intended work of nearly sending her trembling. "I… I really c-can't say, An'da, I have n-no idea," Lord Desdel only inhales sharply through his nostrils, another intense blaze flashing on his gaze.
"You're lying!" He bellows through clenched teeth, nails digging deeper, close to prickle her skin, "I know you've been seeing him, Mylenne. I know everything you've been doing in my absences,"
Her eyes get glossy, the cold feeling of dread settling on her gut as, in an act of reflex, Mylenne clutches her father's wrist, "I'm not—you're hurting me, please," She cries, lilac lips already trembling.
"Then… Stop… Lying… To your father," Desdel's sharp fangs spread before her, growing more incensed within each second passing, a thin strand of midnight black hair falling down his scrunched forehead. He doesn't seem to be taking pity of his daughter as tears start falling down her cheeks, yet in some way it appears to make him change his mind, letting her go quite abruptly a moment later. "Now speak, child. What is Silgryn up to? What does he want you for, now? To keep feeding his obsession with his long gone sister?"
Mylenne genuinely considers the idea of telling him everything, knowing deep down she's facing but a mere glimpse of Lord Stareye's real wrath, sheer panic attempting to overtake her rational senses. But how wise is it, really? As much as she's aware Silgryn is up to something deeper than what he's letting her know, she can't really deny she'd rather be very far away from every sick scheme every member of her family seems to be into.
She doesn't have many memories of what really happened the night of Silgryn's assault at the Manor either way, only some short, incongruent flashbacks; the cold corridors of her mother's secret vault as she ventured in, Illidan's soothing voice with a tint of alarm as he held her in his arms, an awful fever that lasted a whole week. Mylenne's recollections are clearer the moment she woke up from her strange slumber—how worried and near panicked she'd felt as she found Illidan's familiar dusk lily resting on her bedside table, but Hargo's hand holding her while she slept—but from the moment she entered Aedriel's vault, her memories get blurry and hard to decipher.
Nobody had been quite willing to tell her about it as well, but as a matter of fact, she hadn't been insisting on the subject either, pretty much obliging with the change of topics as fast as it came out. Although and to be completely honest, the reality is… she'd been thinking it all wrong.
For she's not the most disgraceful of dorei; in truth, she's only the most coward of them all, and nothing else.
Shameful, selfish, dishonest, and a coward. Dirty, unworthy, that's really who she is.
"I don't know! How would I?" Comes her remark—and it's easier to keep going through the road of complete denial now that she'd already started doing so. "You know Silgryn isn't stupid. I'm sure he's pretty much aware I'd be telling you everything if he does so," Even with her trembling voice, Mylenne has no idea how she manages to hold her lies to the very face of her father, of all dorei. Although and then again, she's not up to look a cub gift in the mouth.
Lord Stareye's upper lip twitches in a silent growl at the mere mention of her uncle's name, pinning Mylenne in place with his heated gaze only for the longest of minutes—studying her, like a prowler would before finishing with their prey's misery. "And he's clever in keeping you from knowing. Yes, I'll admit that sounds like him," With an evident irritation, he leaves her be, returning to pace across the hall, "Bah! I should have known you're useless even for interrogation…"
Mylenne exhales the breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding, if subtly, her heart still trying to hammer its way out of her chest. When her father puts a considerable distance between them, she unconsciously rubs the irritated skin of her neck and jaw with a cold palm, feeling shy and scared to even move. "M-may I go now, An'da? Or do you n-need me for something else?" She can't help with wincing at her choice of words, although doesn't find a way to come up with anything more at that point.
A dark chuckle echoes across the main hall, ominous as ever, a cold chill running down Mylenne's spine. "And where exactly are you going? To meet your Sorcerer lover?" Lord Stareye doesn't even bother facing her again, merely glancing in her direction through the corner of his eye. "You're still taking me for a fool, child. You never could hide anything from me, even when you really tried to…"
His thick, dark cloak gets dirty as it brushes the dirty floor of the hall, stumbling upon broken porcelain and glass on its way, yet not pegging down Lord Desdel's menacing figure as it looms over her once more; a knowing smirk, quite tinged with malice spread across his face. "I know you've taken a lover for the past couple of years. What's his name?" He pretends to think about it while staring Mylenne down, tapping his chin with a long index finger, "Ah, Hargo'then, a lower-rank Officer from the Moon Guard, is that right?"
Her heart skips a beat when he mentions Hargo's name, yet something quite close to relief also courses through her as he doesn't seem to involve anyone else in her… liaisons. Shame on you, you coward! "There's no need for you to worry about him, An'da," Mylenne tries to excuse herself once again, "He's merely—"
"Bah! Spare me," Desdel bats a hand close to her face, making her flinch away in an act of reflex, "I don't have the slight interest to know about your affairs, Mylenne. You can take dozens of men and women to warm your bed for all I care… as long as they're not married nobles, of course," An offended snort follows, his hard nose scrunching, "At least you can't be looked down upon that." He adds with a certain admission, if reluctant.
Mylenne's gaze drops elsewhere, unable to take on her father's for any longer. Giving it a second thought and being somewhat honest, she's willing to admit that, putting aside his miserable expectations of her and his usual awful treatment, at least Lord Desdel doesn't bother to lie on her own face. His way can be excruciatingly cruel, but it's the honest truth after all.
Someway in between, she's growing inclined to believe it's merely what she deserves as well.
Sheer disgust and shame courses through her as Lord Stareye leans down and touches her face once again, her eyes shutting close and shoulders tensing, bracing for the worst of his wrath. "Regardless, don't believe I've forgotten about what I've been setting up for you." His voice is cold and with that subtle hint of warning he tends to carry on in his words, patting her cheek near mockingly—almost as if tempting her to dare flinch away. "As always, I'm still working on what's best for the progress of our Household. So far, Lieutenant Shadowsong keeps being your perfect match, so by all means, have all the fun you want while you can… because you will take him as your husband." When he lifts her chin with an index finger, this time Mylenne doesn't resist, "Be a good girl and remind your uncle about that, will you?"
Her throat bobs as she swallows hard, struggling to find her voice. "If that's your wish, An'da," Mylenne only murmurs, voice strained, not daring to move a single finger.
A pleased smile spreads across his hard face, "It is indeed." He takes another excruciating moment to stare her down before letting her go completely, nearly pushing her away, "Now get out of my sight! I have thousands of things to worry about for you to be meddling around and pestering me," Lord Stareye barks, turning to take on the huge mess of their main hall once again.
Mylenne doesn't need to be told twice, trying her best to be somewhat subtle and not make an evident sprint outside the Manor, yet closing the big doors of the hall in a rush and running away either way, as silently as she can.
The first rays of the morning Sun hit her straight in the face as she turns around the corner, panting moderately after placing as much distance as she could from herself and the Stareye Manor, striding down not so crowded streets and avoiding as many people as she can on her way. The air is chill, yet it gets colder than her liking once she hits the road leading to Suramar's outskirts, considerably slowing her fast pace, feeling tired, so very tired…
And not precisely of running.
She's tired of constantly feeling handled like a ragdoll, of struggling, of not being heard, of wearing the name she wears, tired of even dealing with her sick pretense of a family if there ever was one. However, it's while leaning against the nearest tree to take a small break when Mylenne comes with the small realization of the most tiresome and excruciating feeling to top it all, is that she most likely deserves everything that had come upon her.
Why keep denying it, though? She's a very bad friend, a terrible companion, a worst niece and the clear example of what a daughter shouldn't be. In that regard, her father has always been right about her, and she just proves him right as the years went by with never trying enough—never deeming herself worthy of anything, not even to hold the reins of her own life.
Perhaps I should just give up and let father decide my fate after all. What's the point of going against the tides, either way?
She already has stopped paying attention to the road ahead for quite a while, opting to let her feet guide the way, hugging herself and with her head hanging low, too lost in her miserable thoughts and wrecked state to be worried about anything else. Merchants and families come and go on the road up north to Vanthir's bar, yet she just doesn't bother to greet anyone along the way.
Somehow and even with feeling distanced from the realm of the living, a deep baritone voice and a flash of cobalt hair capture Mylenne's eye just as easy as breathing, far away on the northern side of the road.
Illidan waves at her near frantically, an odd gesture that would have made her at least cackle in any other moment, "Mylie! Hey!" The insistent tone in his voice brings her to hesitate for a second, but as she spots his company through her periphery, Mylenne merely settles for nodding politely before resuming her walk, her sheepish smile never reaching her eyes.
Ever the most persistent of her acquaintances, Illidan doesn't seem to leave her be just like that, a tiresome sigh leaving her lips while she notices him prompting his group to approach her—a curious Sylenna still snatching his arm. "Goddess, Mylie, I'm so, sooooo sorry," He appears to sound utterly mortified, a concerned frown creasing Mylenne's forehead, "I completely forgot our meeting!"
She can't help with tilting her head in confusion, not recalling anything like that either from their last meeting nor usual correspondence. "What—?" Mylenne begins, not finding the patience or will to properly acknowledge Illidan's twin, Malfurion, or Priestess Tyrande as the pair catches up with them.
Her late closest friend is quick to capture her eye, sending a brief yet obvious wink her way. "I know, I should have let you know. It's just that Mal and Tyra found me and… I'll tell you later," Mylenne has no remote idea what Illidan is up to as of then, yet as he appears to be quite fixed on finding excuses to leave his group, there's not much she's willing to do but let him be. "My apologies for having to leave you so abruptly, but there's something we really need to… address with Mylenne,"
With her tolerance wearing thin—definitely unwilling to endure anyone else's sudden company except Illidan, and even doubting that—Mylenne settles for resuming her walk, decidedly not casting a glance at Illidan's current… lover, her cascade of bright silver-white hair waving softly as she still appears to cling to his arm. "But, Illy, you promised—" Mylenne's mouth contorts in a disgusted sneer with Sylenna's choice of a name, hopefully going unnoticed.
Mylenne's not sure why she half turns to glance past her shoulder, surely out of curiosity rather than anything else, but she's fast with completely regretting it. "And I promise I'll make it up to you, Lenna," A tang of evident jealousy courses through her as Illidan leans down and kisses Sylenna, if very briefly and in an evident haste, still prompting Mylenne to fast her pace and distance herself from the newest Priestess as much as she can.
Walking up a small hill as a shortcut to Vanthir's bar, Mylenne grumbles under her breath as Illidan catches up with her in a moment's notice, coming up behind her and sliding his arm across the crook of her elbow in a certainly haughty manner. As much as she's usually more than comfortable with his company, her sour mood appears to be a remarkable contrast to her friend's pleased one by then, not feeling like properly meeting his eye.
Coming to the conclusion of being stuck with him as of then, Mylenne makes a considerable effort of at least have a small talk. "So, how is the newest fancy Spellcaster on town? I take it you couldn't stand your brother anymore?" She guesses, judging by how relieved he seems to be for leaving his company behind.
A smug smirk crosses his handsome face at the mention of his late promotion on the Moon Guard, chin held high proudly. "Now that you're here, way better," Illidan smiles, if quite briefly, "But ugh, yes, it was torturing me. Although I did promise I was at least going to try seeing him more often, right—?"
Somehow in between, he finally appears to give her a once over, inhaling sharply and tugging at her arm, prompting the two of them to a stop. She's about to protest, having reached the end of her patience, yet it's as Mylenne finally meets his face, she can't help with her breath hitching when she notices the reason of his abrupt disturbance.
"Mylenne, what—!?" In the mere course of a second, Illidan's soft smile shifts into an utterly incensed sneer, staring wide-eyed at her—surely and quite easy to assume so, given how sore it still feels—bruised neck. Her first thought is to hide it, head hanging low in shame, the whole night's events falling down on her like the heaviest of cloaks, her shoulders slumping down.
Nonetheless, even as she looks away and purses her lips, that doesn't seem to help with her companion's apparent outrage, coming to stand in her way down the hill, golden eyes flashing with many dark promises. Illidan holds her by the shoulders, leaning down and searching for her face, "This wasn't Hargo," He growls through clenched teeth, his deep voice showing how evidently offended he is.
"Mylenne, tell me who did this so I can slaughter them."
A-N: I'll be honest and say I don't have the faintest idea how I managed to bring an update as fast as I did. I know I said these next chapters were most likely to come up faster than the others, but honestly, I didn't really mean it in the literal sense of the word, hahaha. Not that I'm complaining, though :B
As a sort of PSA, I'll be traveling to another city this next Sunday, so I can't really say how I'll manage to keep my updates in this fast pace - but this doesn't mean I'll go on hiatus or anything like that! Oooooh no sir, these dorks aren't going anywhere, not if I have a say on it!
But yeah... I must be honest and admit it'll be harder than before, even more so because I'll be looking forward to settling in this city for good, and given I don't have a job - and can't really look for one thanks to my mental illnesses - I'm already guessing it'll be twice as hard to find some time for writing and drawing.
I wasn't really looking forward to saying this, but if you'd like to help me out in this very complicated moment of my life, I'm open to art commissions (Check out my Art Blog on Tumblr, Hoxadrine-art), or you can always Buy me a Coffee (ko-fi /hoxadrine). Any single bit is more than appreciated and you'll have my heart on a plate if you consider helping me out - and it's not like you don't own my heart already, but you know, it'll mean the world to me.
As always, thank you all so so sooooo much for your incredible support, for your questions, your curiosity, and just for being as awesome as you all are. Every single word from you guys always makes my days brighter, and honestly, I don't really know what would be of me without you around :)
You're the best of the best and keep being AWESOME!