Darnassian:

Dalah'dorei: An endearment. Can be translated to "My child/children" or "Child/children of mine". Trivia: Despite 'dalah' being literal my/mine pronouns, 'dorei' doesn't necessarily refers to a youngster in some cases.

Dorei: Shortened for Kaldorei. May refer to a person (regardless of gender), a youngster and also can be used in plural.

Kal-tora(i): Literal: "Birth night". (Trivia: Kaldorei celebrate birthdays every 100 years)

Sar'thera: A pejorative, meant for someone who's considered irritating or exasperating. Slang: Sart(e).

Nal'dore (New Moon): (Trivia) An ancient omen regarding the end, may it be for the end of a season as well as the end of a life. People born under a Nal'dore are partially looked down upon.

Kelim'dore: (Trivia) Kelim'dore comes from an old dialect, referring to a myth regarding the guardians of the skies and Warriors of the Sun, created to protect and guard over the Moon's first daughters. In current times it's used as an endearment for a male kaldorei, although the meaning and use got rapidly lost over the years.

Jai'dore (Full Moon): (Trivia) Jai'dore comes from an old dialect, referring to a myth regarding the first females who walked among the land, the Daughters of the Moon. In current times, the meaning shifted until taking a similar reference to the period of Full Moon and is also used as an endearment.

Arane: A curse or expletive. Figurative translation for "nightmare/s".

Stareye

3 months later

His voice sounds strained and weak, although he succeeds in coming up with words. "Say something…" Illidan pleads, cupping her cheek in one of his hands. "Please…"

She feels herself trembling under his touch, her heart hammering its way out of her chest. Where was the time when she has felt such… plenitude? Certainly then, she can't possibly tell. "Illidan," She whispers to his hard—and at the same time so soft, so full of promises, so safe—lips, "What is there to say?"

Only a slight breath is his response, although she pays no mind, craning her neck up to kiss him fully, the silvery-white moonlight enveloping them feeling like heaven. Or maybe it's Illidan who makes her feel so up in the clouds, not wanting to come down from her reverie—from his embrace, his warmth, from that incredible sensation of her own heartbeat singing with sheer joy. For some reason and from the back of her mind, she has a strong suspicion it's the latter.

The sound of a feminine voice clearing her throat brings her down, like a sudden tug on her feet prompting her to return to the ground. In an act of reflex, she stares at an astounded Syrana, and her heart also falls down to the grass.

The world starts spinning rapidly, but when she opens her eyes once again, all she can see is that adoringly and oh so bright golden gaze looking at her through crinkled slits, their foreheads leaning against each other.

"Say something… please…"

"What do you want me to say?" She wonders this time in a pant, his breath fanning her mouth. Her hand clings from his chest to his shoulder and it's like he can't contain himself, brushing her mouth with his first, tentative, then holding her tighter as Illidan captures her lower lip between both of his when she reciprocates his gesture, a hand burying in her hair while he captures her mouth completely.

There's no interruption right then, and as she kisses Illidan back it's as if she's rousing something stronger in him, allowing his familiar—and at the same time, not in that way—passionate side to break through; settling a certain hot warmth within them both, threatening to burn them from the inside out. Not like she minds that, though, for she'd happily let herself envelope in that all-consuming fire if it means she could be in his arms for a heavenly moment.

Illidan lets her go for a spare moment, "That you want the same as I," Seemingly overcome with a strong need, he doesn't let her reply, though; capturing her lips as if it's the last chance he'd ever have in his life, and merely wants to savor it fully.

And she does—of course she does. It's all she's ever wanted, all she have ever dreamed of, even in her nightmares, from the very first moment her eyes laid on him.

Something shifts once more, like an hourglass being abruptly turned, time and her rapid heartbeat resetting all of a sudden. Her hand clings to his cheek and they part, foreheads leaning against each other. "Say something," Illidan pleads again, his voice sounding strained and weak, "Please…"

Damn, she needs to be faster. And yet, the temptation to wait, to linger in that perfect moment they're sharing over and over again is incredibly strong.

"Illidan, I d—"

An insistent knock on the door startles her, returning to the realm of the living too abruptly for her liking. "You awake, dalah'dorei?" A muffled voice, although remarkably familiar, wonders from outside her room. They don't wait for her response, however; Silgryn and Arluin's heads—dark-violet and leaf green—showing tentatively behind the door. "Oh, good, you are. It's past bedtime anyways," Silgryn excuses himself, striding in and coming to lean beside the window.

Mylenne stifles an annoyed groan as she rubs her face with both hands, already having strong suspicions of why the couple would decide to wake her up, despite the time of night. "I was having a nice dream, uncle," She laments while sitting on the mattress, noticing through the corner of her eye how Silgryn's brows furrow in concern. "A nice dream, I said. Stop looking at me like that," Arluin, still standing at the door, shifts his weight in apparent uneasiness, but she pays no mind to her uncle's lover just yet. "Would the two of you at least let me dress up before talking about whatever it is that it's making you so itchy?"

Silgryn rolls his eyes yet obliges with a dismissing flick of his wrist. "Bah. Have it your way, but hurry up and meet us at the table," Gently pushing his lover towards the exit, he glances over his shoulder, "It's important, Mylie, so chop chop!" He claps his hands twice insistently, doing an exaggerated flick of his wrist and a mocking reverence before closing the door and leaving her alone.

After an annoyed huff, Mylenne strides to the wardrobe, grabbing some casual trousers and a light long shirt, securing it as she ties her waist up in a leather belt with more laziness than necessary. She can't help with casting a glance at her night table—a crystal urn with a beautiful, glowing dusk lily shimmering with the moonlight coming from across the window, making her draw a long, tired breath.

With screwing it up what had been one of the best kal-torai of her entire life, she can deal with it, but the mere thought of losing one of her current best friends is more than enough to send her heart aching way too painfully.

I should talk to him. I must, but… what is there to say? He hates rejection as much as I hate wearing a tiara. Goddess, what should I say?

Apprehension clings to her, threatening to close her throat as one of the first occupied tables she can see from the first floor happens to be having a couple of Illidan's closest friends in Suramar, Lothrius and Syrana. However, apparently a tiny spare of luck is on Mylenne's side, for he's nowhere to be seen as she walks down the stairs—yet still, her eyes drift everywhere tentatively. She greets them with a shy wave of her hand while her uncle insistently calls her over his table, not so far away from theirs.

Sitting unceremoniously, a pile of heavy books is laid before her eyes, her suspicions confirmed as she rolls her eyes and groans loudly. "You still want me to research this?" Mylenne huffs, pinching the bridge of her nose so to keep herself from snapping at such an early time of the evening. "I've told you already: It's pointless, surely just an anomaly. That's all there could ever have happ—"

Silgryn takes a seat beside her and interrupts her rant as he lays a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Look, Mylie," He begins, seemingly summoning all the kindness and patience he can muster, judging by the soft tone of his voice, "I wouldn't ask you to give these books some readings if I didn't have some good reasons for doing so," Her uncle brings a familiar book to their side of the table, elegant black ink reading 'Astral Encyclopedia, Volume 3, by Star Augur Etraeus' on the tome, prompting her to open it.

"Before you ask, he's read that one three times," Arluin interjects, bringing some cold Moonwell water for the three of them as well as bread and Moonberry jam. "And it's giving me heavy headaches with how much he keeps talking about it, mumbling and theorizing in bed."

Mylenne's about to throw the pile of books to their faces but Arluin's near puppy face keeps her from doing so, rubbing her face harder in frustration. She certainly has no idea why her uncle had hold an obsession with such a thing—as well as not realizing why she's quite reluctant to bring that particular night once again—yet perhaps if she obliges, then he'd drop the subject and leave her be.

Dropping her former professor's book, Mylenne grabs another one related to lunar cycles, searching its pages with some laziness from her part as from knowing that book by memory. "Alright, I'm sure you have a partial knowledge about the cycles of the Moon from our perspective," She begins, bringing a curious Oculeth to one side of the table, peeking over the page she's showing, "The Blue Child—our second Moon—doesn't interfere with the White Lady, as it's the Sun which causes the sightings we tend to see regularly. However, the Blue Child also hides from sight when on a New Moon,"

Tapping the page for all to see, Mylenne continues, "The phases are always the same: From a New Moon, to a waxing crescent, then showing further to a waxing gibbous and forming a Full Moon. Then waning once again to form another New Moon and so forth," Everyone in the table nods earnestly, appearing to get what she's explaining. "The Blue Child always hides behind the White Lady when a Nal'dore is on course… although what you've seen could have been a very strange conjunction between the two Moons," She sighs heavily, not feeling up to fuel Silgryn's odd obsession with that event, however, not helping with making the best theory she can come up with.

"A conjunction? How so?" It's Oculeth who wonders right then, leaning on the table with evident interest, pale ears tilting upwards. "Perhaps a… reflection from the Blue Child, causing the Moon to be shining as if a Nal'dore weren't happening?"

"Yeah, kind of. That's the closest thing I can come up with," Mylenne agrees with a reluctant tilt of her head, "But then again, we're definitely discussing an anomaly, and that's very far away from my field of expertise," She remarks, giving her uncle a knowing look so to see if he'd finally drop the subject.

A spark of navy hair captures Mylenne's eye, glancing at the only Sorceress in the bar, her sour mood easing momentarily at the wholeheartedly laugh Syrana appears to send to her partner on her table. Somehow, it brings her back to her early nights back at Suramar Observatory; Syrana's laugh quite similar and genuine to her astrologer colleague, Jarin.

The Starweave sisters are very lucky to have Lothrius and Jarod with them. At least someone's having it good in this mess of an Embrace.

Mylenne's neck tilts up all in a sudden, blinking twice and causing her closest companions to flinch in surprise. Jarin… the beginning of a new Embrace… what did Etraeus use to say?

Her hand brushes over the Star Augur's tome while she stands from her seat rather abruptly. "'The Moons align and so the stars wax…'" Mylenne quotes her former professor's words in a murmur, merely a whisper, still processing her thoughts as her feet lead her to the next table, meeting two familiar and smiling faces.

It gets difficult to start talking with her mind racing and spinning with many theories at once, Mylenne's gaze glued to the pretty and faintly sparkling golden in Syrana's eyes, mouth opening and closing—probably looking like a fish out of the water.

Syrana stares back, her smirk not faltering. "About time you decided to step up and look at us in the eye, milady," The silky tone of the Sorceress' voice helps with bringing Mylenne back to the realm of the living, shaking her head slightly so to brush it off, violet ponytail waving softly.

"So…" Mylenne taps a finger to her chin, making her best to come up with some words, "You were also present in that lunar event Silgryn is becoming so obsessed with, right?" Syrana nods matter-of-factly, not appearing to be giving it the importance Mylenne does, "Alright, that's good, that's good…" Rearranging some of her thoughts, she leans further on the table, "Do you happen to know something about constellations?"

The Sorceress' head tilts to the side, seemingly sparking some interest. "Well, I do happen to have some astrologer acquaintances," She admits with a casual shrug, "But in short, I haven't the slightest idea, dear. Why?"

Mylenne hums in acknowledgment—she actually hadn't been expecting for Syrana to have knowledge of star charts, although asking wouldn't hurt anyone—a better idea striking upon her. Holding up an index finger in the universal sign for wait, she strides to the front table where three dorei are still apparently trying to figure her out, returning to the Sorcerers' booth with Etraeus' tome hastily.

Prompting Lothrius to give her some spare space on the table, she spreads the book open and rapidly goes to the page 145, where a set of constellations and star charts from Embrace 23:0 and so forth begin to be explained. Syrana seems to be unable to contain her curiosity, leaning closer to watch the examples shown in the paper. "These are the most remarkable appearances of constellations you could've seen, given the time of night. Do any of them ring a bell to you?" Mylenne asks her, turning the pages slowly for the Sorceress to see.

Syrana's navy brows knit in a frown as she obliges with her request, sneering from time to time as Mylenne keeps showing her more pictures of sightings. At page 149, her features change into slight shock, "Oh…" Her fingers catch Mylenne's wrist, prompting her to stop, Syrana's forehead creasing further in apparent thought. "Well, indeed, this one does. What you guys call 'The Path',"

That particular constellation makes Mylenne hum in deep thought. "It makes sense," She's inclined to admit before waving a hand forward to the bar's window, prompting Syrana to follow her there. "Do you happen to remind from this point of view where did The Path point out?"

The Sorceress doesn't appear to remember that properly, leaning further over the window yet shaking her navy head in a sad manner a minute later. "Well, I do…" Silgryn's remark makes the women jump slightly as he comes to stand behind them, hands on his back, "It pointed directly to the two of you," He affirms, glancing sideways at Mylenne.

She snorts in return, "Now that's impossible. Did you hit your head this evening, uncle?"

Silgryn just ignores her scolding, "I also recall this was the star chart you and the Star Augur sighted and later altered in the recordings. One of your first sightings with Etraeus, isn't it?" Mylenne can't help but nod in acknowledgment—remarkably so, she couldn't ever retort her uncle and his perfect memory, and apparently, it doesn't seem to be a proper moment to start right then. "When was it? Embrace 28:1, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, but still. That can't be right," She insists, tapping at the window as she points at the incoming starry sky above, "As poetic and a wonderful telltale that might be, The Path always points to the Moon, not to the ground,"

Oculeth and Lothrius join in with mugs in hand, everyone gathering around the window as if there's something interesting to see outside. "Or perhaps Silgryn is not that as far ahead as it sounds and the sighting was indeed pointing at a Moon." Her uncle's friend raises an index finger as if trying to prove an odd theory, staring at the group in surprise when nobody appears to understand where he is going with his remark, "Oh, come on! You can't tell me you've ever heard about the Jai'dore and Kelim'dore, the first of our kind who populated the land. It's one of the most popular—"

"Children stories…" A familiar baritone voice interrupts Oculeth's slight rant, sending a shiver down Mylenne's spine with the definitely disapproving tone, hesitating to turn around and face the newcomer.

A tense silence falls over the group as Illidan approaches them, her gaze—as well as her heart, although Mylenne does her best for anyone not to notice that—dropping to the floor while a sense of sheer guilt courses through her, feeling her throat closing. Her uncle appears to be the first to feel the discomfort in the air, tsking in some annoyance. "Bah, nonsense," Silgryn then huffs, "The tale of the Sun and the Moon is one of the best stories ever written! Here, let's get back to my table and I'll tell you all about it…"

As her uncle claps Syrana and Lothrius on the shoulders in an evident sign to get on the move, Mylenne sends a nearly panicked glare at him as subtly as she can, yet all she achieves is a small giggle from Syrana's part. Lothrius clears his throat as if to cover that up, although nobody seems to be up to remain there any longer—even Oculeth obliging with his friend, scratching the back of his neck as he joins the group at the front table, leaving Mylenne alone at the window.

She has no idea how long it goes by before Illidan speaks up. "So… the rumors are true, I suppose?" Mylenne has a certain suspicion which one of the many rumors hanging around these last nights is he talking about, but no matter how much she tries, she can't really bring up the subject nor figure out a reply—the silence around them turning absurdly awkward. For the matter, Illidan just opts for remarking instead of dropping it. "You broke up with Hargo?"

There's a slight demanding tone in his voice, as if he's not up to leave without a proper answer, although it's not like she doesn't owe him that much. Or everything, for all the headaches I'd have probably given him these years. "I—yes... I did," Mylenne manages to voice out, shoulders slumping down after a long, tired sigh. "I'm guessing Syrana told you,"

Illidan appears partially satisfied, uncrossing his arms and shifting his weight on his other hip, "Surprisingly, not this time," He points out with an amused snort, "Lothrius told me. He's been on shift with him for the past month," Tentatively, he leans beside the window—if to get on her line of sight or just try to look casual, Mylenne can't tell—brows knitting and dark forehead creasing as he seems to choose his words very carefully. "Um, are you—"

Her tongue acts up on its own. "I've missed you…" Mylenne croaks, eyes widening briefly and a silly blush creeping up her cheeks, clearing her throat so to cover that up. "I mean, we've all missed you, and Sil has been so annoyingly dense without you or Hargo around. And Oculeth's been asking—"

Illidan reaches for her arm and she nearly flinches away with the contact—an all-familiar tingle running across her extremities as if electricity. "Stop rambling." Their eyes meet by accident but his features soften the very first second he looks at her in the eye. "I've missed you too, Mylie," A little sad smile clings to his handsome face momentarily, yet his hard frown disappears completely, "I just figured out you may be needing some, um, alone time. I needed that as well," His head slightly tilts to the side as if seeming inclined to admit that, somehow turning pensive.

Her gaze falls to the ground just as her heart, sheer remorse coursing through her, managing to close her throat and making her eyes glossy. "All I know is that I hurt you again, and I can't apologize for that enough," As much as Mylenne would appreciate the comfort of her friend's touch, she leans away from him, not feeling worthy of such luxury. Illidan should be throwing a rant at her, not acting as incredibly kind and understanding as he'd grown up to do with her. "... As much as it's been very complicated to forgive myself for doing so,"

His behavior towards her genuinely throws her off, for it's not common for a dorei like Illidan to be inclined to giving second chances; the mere exception Mylenne can come up with being his twin, Malfurion. And even with that, she knows the Stormrage brothers aren't still on the best of terms. And yet, there he is, willing to make amends and allowing her to atone for—as everybody surely believes so—toying with him.

She's not worthy of him in the slightest—not as a friend, not as… anything, for the matter—and she's so conscious of that it makes her heart shrink in shame, sending her shoulders down furthermore and hugging herself, not daring to meet his eyes nor face the disappointment that must be surely plastered all over his features. When Illidan draws a very long, tired sigh, Mylenne readies herself in an act of reflex, nails digging into her skin.

Through her periphery, she can see his jaw clenching and unclenching, seemingly hesitating to voice his thoughts out in the open. "I forgive you," Those three words make Mylenne's breath hitch, neck craning to meet his face once again and eyes widening, nearly not believing what she'd just heard. "Under one condition, however," Illidan raises an index finger before her, serious as ever.

"I'll be having a week off work in a couple of months. If you promise me you'll keep up with your word of visiting Eldarath with me, then we're good." He leans more nonchalantly against the wall, looking more confident—smug even, crossing his arms again as if daring her to make a retort. "Oh, and at least one lullaby when we'd be camping. And probably brushing my hair in the evenings,"

Violet brows quirk up in amusement, her gut stopping its painful twisting and clenching as she keeps her stare on him, trying to figure him out for a fleeting moment, then realizing he's really meaning that. "Is that all?" Mylenne can't help but jest back, the corner of her mouth curving upwards.

Illidan just shrugs, "I can brush yours in exchange. Not like I'd say no if you ask for it," He admits, his mouth also curving up in a knowing smirk.

Tentatively—yet also with sheer curiosity from her part—Mylenne stretches her hand to him, prompting Illidan to take it; If to make proper amends or so to see if he's willing to at least grip her back, leaving it up to him to decide.

When he instead pulls her hand further close and encircles her shoulders with an arm, prompting her to take his waist, a sigh full of relief escapes her lips, head resting on his bare chest as she hugs him with all the gratefulness in the world, not even worrying about hurting him in her embrace.

"Then Shareh will be utterly pleased," Mylenne mumbles to his chest as they both stare lazily at the starry sky before them from across the window, the night sheltering them both from the giggles and funny gossips behind their backs.

"... And the Mother Moon knew Her daughters wouldn't stand a chance in this uncharted world merely on their own, nor they would be able to fight back the all-consuming void," Silgryn continues, gesturing almost exaggeratedly as he regularly tends to do so while sharing one of his many tell-tales, "And so, She called upon the Father Sun to summon his Kelim'dore, the mighty guardians of the skies, and protect Her brethren from the dangers of the universe…"

Mylenne takes a gulp of Moonberry juice and relaxes further in her booth; Illidan and Lothrius seated on each side, the latter supporting his head with a fist, looking like the most bored one of the group. "Each Kelim'dore was assigned to a Jai'dore by the Sun and Moon themselves, and a soothing, near blinding light would shine upon them both, matching their Mother's when they eventually found each other," Her uncle's eyes meet hers momentarily, yet he doesn't seem inclined to interrupt his tale. "It's also rumored their hearts encompassed one another's when they did so—an evident sign that would bring them together to populate the land and spend the rest of eternity as mates, each other's halves."

From her periphery, she notices Illidan leaning his elbows on the table, something regarding Silgryn's tale apparently catching his interest; a spark of curiosity crossing his golden gaze, but only briefly, disappearing after the next blink. "One of them kept their vigil over their world as the other had their rest, the very same as the Mother Moon and the Father Sun as they currently take each other's places—forever in guard, watchful against the dangers of the Void that would, in the eventual time, reach and threaten to consume them all."

A thoughtful whistle brings the group's attention to the other side of the table, "Huh. That certainly brings up some memories," Syrana looks inclined to admit, her usually golden gaze then turning dull, nostalgic. Silgryn tilts his head to the side in a mix of concern and curiosity, prompting her to continue, "Well, father used to tell Shala and me how our Min'da looked as beautiful as the Moon each time his eyes happened to lay on her,"

Besides Mylenne, Illidan glares at Syrana, "Near fifty years of knowing each other and you never told me that," He sounds nearly offended, judging by the tone of his voice.

Syrana merely sends him a knowing look, "In my defense, dear Lid, you never asked," She dismisses his remark, brushing her navy mane off her shoulders in a nonchalant manner and returning to her previous line of conversation, "Father told us he felt his heart kind of… switching, changing, as if returning to a not-as-familiar sort of beat the moment Min'da passed away," The Sorceress sneers a bit as if not finding the proper words to explain it, yet it's clear she's trying as much.

"You mean when Nyellus found out about his lifemate?" Silgryn wonders after taking a sip of his ale, Mylenne's face scrunching in near disgust for a split second—how her uncle manages to get on drinking alcohol that early in the evening, she has no idea, but it's not appealing in the slightest.

"Not exactly, I meant the very exact moment she perished," The only Sorceress in the bar remarks with a flick of her heavily adorned wrist, "He was tending Shala to sleep when he had that feeling. I can't really tell how, but with that sort of hunch, he said he just knew something happened to her." Her pretty golden eyes fall to her untouched mug, a heavy mix of sadness and longing plastered on her handsome face. "He described it like… a sense of deep emptiness within, like a part of him withering and dying; and at the same time as a feeling he couldn't compare with anything in the world, except for a certain time of his youth when he hadn't met her."

Mylenne's eyes can't help with drifting to Illidan's deeply pensive face, not staring back and appearing quite lost in his thoughts. Her hand reflexively reaches for his so to bring him out of his reverie, although all she accomplishes are for his golden gaze to stare intensely on their intertwined fingers, nearly enraptured, cobalt brows knitting harder. She mouths his name as subtly as she can; however, their linked hands also bring her that unwanted reminder of that gleeful warmth that filled her that exact moment when, some months back, Illidan leaned down and…

No, that's enough. It's just a children's tale. I should leave these silly fantasies for a moment when I'm not awake and lucid. Better to have that to fight the nightmares rather than having other faces from the past haunting me.

She has seen Illidan abruptly drifting away for the past few years, a sense of sheer worry coursing through her each time his mind seemed to travel far away from the realm of the living; the handsome gleam of his eyes suddenly freezing for longer than fairly healthy, prompting her to do something to bring him back to the present—to bring him back to her, even when she feels not as selfish to admit that out in the open.

Thankfully so, there's a small intake of breath before Illidan's taken back to the current moment, his golden eyes boring into her silver ones, his intensity accompanied with a sort of gratefulness from his part—as if he figured out what she was trying to do all along, no words needed as one corner of his mouth curves up in a thankful smile.

The rest of the group is engrossed in their own theories regarding Silgryn's tale, prompting Mylenne to grasp the chance as she has it, leaning closer to his ear, not letting go of his hand. "Want to talk about it?" She says softly, not wanting to push the subject further if Illidan doesn't really want to. "This isn't the first time I've seen you like this, Lid. Should I be worried or…?"

"Please, don't be," Illidan sends a nervous shake of his head her way, lips pursing in a mix of concern and hesitation. "I'm just… processing all this, that's all,"

She rests her other hand over his, "It's just a children story, like you said," Mylenne insists, smiling in reassurance as she faces him fully, "Don't wrap your head around it, there's no sense in doing that,"

A tsk from his part follows, although Illidan's eyes roam all over her face afterwards, seemingly searching for something—or perhaps just trying to reorganize his thoughts, Mylenne can't really tell. A violet brow quirks up in question, yet he takes his sweet time in replying. "That's precisely what I'm wondering," He murmurs, more to himself than to her, "Is it really just a story? I mean… arane, this is stupid," His gaze falls in a mix of embarrassment and something Mylenne can't really place, feeling his hand squeezing hers briefly. "I think I don't know what's real and what's not anymore,"

Sheer worry pools around Mylenne's gut, searching for his face once again, not bothering if she's accidentally prompting the group's attention to the two of them. "Hey, Illidan, look at me," She cradles his cheek, encouraging him to return his eyes to her, "This is real. I am real, and I am here," Having a strong suspicion of what's troubling her friend that much, she dares to voice it in the open, "Your dreams aren't real, you hear me? Whatever you've heard and witnessed in your dreams, it's not true and most likely won't ever be,"

Illidan's breath hitches ever so slightly at her last words, a dull gleaming full of sadness and concern crossing his eyes. "So you… dream too?" Mylenne just nods, yet doesn't feel like remarking every dorei with a bare amount of magic within them must have, at least once, traveled to the Azure realm in their sleep. And even when it's not worth mentioning that, she must admit she's not that attuned to that dreadful realm as much as Illidan surely is, given how skillful and more dependent to the arcane he's known to be.

"But… what if I want some dreams to be real?" He then wonders, somehow sounding kind of shy, doubting what he's voicing out in the open, "What does that make me?"

Confusion strikes her, not knowing what to say, a surge of new ponderings crossing her mind. "I… I guess it depends on what you want to be real," It's the best Mylenne can come up with, noticing she's still holding his face after Illidan leans over her palm ever so subtly, somehow unable to let him go, "What is that, if I may ask?"

The sadness in his face gets brushed away in a split second, something close to hope taking place in his handsome features. "Don't you know it already?" Illidan wonders, cobalt brows knitting in apparent suspicion.

However, Mylenne can't come up with a reply after, a moment later, the bar's doors bang open, her friend Jarod striding inside hastily, followed by an alarmed Hargo'then—the latter having the decency of closing the doors not as abruptly. Their faces are hard as stone as they approach the table, although instead of greeting the group, the younger Shadowsong goes directly to Silgryn's side.

Jarod pulls a letter from his open jacket, near slamming it before Silgryn; Mylenne's eyes going wide after catching a glance of the seal—the Stareye sigil engraved on it.

"We have to talk, Silgryn. Now."

While a good bunch of dorei takes over her room to have what's looking forward to being a heated discussion, Mylenne doesn't feel like having a say in the matter, closing the door so to have some proper privacy.

"The gathering is scheduled for the next Full Moon. I'm afraid we don't have much time to come up with something," Hargo announces, returning Lord Desdel Stareye's letter to their owner after the group gives it a quick reading, a nasty frown narrowing his handsome face.

Turning two thousand years old had given her father an advantage and, as it turns out, he'd been very quick with seizing the opportunity as it came. With Mylenne having a proper age to claim a lifemate, Lord Desdel apparently didn't bother to wait any longer before scheduling a meeting at the Lunastre Estate, surely to bring his daughter and her intended husband before the Duchess for her approval.

Her uncle looks like wanting to set her room on fire, for the matter. "What in Elune's tits was I thinking?" Silgryn growls, nearly breaking Mylenne's window as he lands a heavy fist on the glass, startling everyone but Arluin. "We shouldn't have been staying as idle as we did. I knew he wouldn't stay with arms crossed for so long!" His head bangs heavily against the glass, drawing a frustrated sigh.

Mylenne sends a hard frown his way, feeling her uncle is just voicing nonsense. "You shouldn't take this personal. This isn't your fault, father's planned it for decades," Her lips purse in sadness as she drops a hand over Silgryn's shoulder, trying somehow to soothe his ire.

Surprisingly so, her uncle doesn't take her offer of comfort as she expected. "Are you kidding me? All of this is my fault!" Silgryn barks, flinching away from her as if she bears something contagious, "I should have done more, pull more strings and take you away from here. You can't be thrown into the filthy quel den as if a ragdoll and oblige to their fucking demands just like that!" He pinches his hard nose while pacing in the room, seemingly grounding himself before saying something harsher, "Mylie… I made a vow to protect and take care of you and in my selfishness and senseless needs, I failed to do so. It is my fault,"

Regardless of their family ties and duties, Mylenne finds a certain serenity when he, at least, admits his selfishness in the matter. However, she can't bring herself to have hard feelings against her uncle, even when he'd spent centuries so far away yet so close altogether. In the end, Silgryn just did what he could with what he had, and not even she can blame him for his choices.

Luckily, Jarod is the first one to intervene, "And you really would have taken your Household on your shoulders merely to keep us free from the Highborne's noble game?" His arms are crossed tight, a hard frown narrowing his face as he watches her uncle pace restlessly, "Myl is right. It wouldn't have been fair for you, Silgryn,"

In between Silgryn's agitated stride, Mylenne unconsciously follows Hargo's glued eyes, her gaze catching the dusk lily peacefully shimmering on her night table, her heart dropping to the floor as a sense of shame courses through her. Somehow, she can't help with returning to her previous ponderings—to the choices she and her family have made, and how they've inextricably affected their loved ones as the years went by.

"Did you just listen? I made a vow, Jarod." Silgryn repeats, facing him with a very hard glare, "I promised I'd atone and mend all the damage that Aedriel did. I made it my very purpose," A glimpse of grief flashes across his silver gaze, turning away, "Instead, I failed and didn't claim what's been mine from the beginning. Even left the sart of Mylenne's father to rule and make the decisions for us, merely because I didn't want anything to do with our family anymore,"

He ends up dropping unceremoniously on Mylenne's mattress, his voice so low she nearly can't hear him, "I'd love to say otherwise but at the end of the night, I'm the first one to blame. I should have listened to my sister and taken charge of my Household as she always intended. Not let her legacy to be ruined just like this…"

Somehow, the image of her uncle as patriarch of House Stareye makes Mylenne scrunch her nose, feeling it odder than she'd have thought. Are Silgryn and she really coping with the consequences of their own choices or has it always been due to the decisions Mylenne's parents and siblings always made for them? In truth, she can't really say something would have been different if they've taken another path in life, or resigned to their wishes so to keep their family safe, but thinking about how tied they both are to what's been done in the past is even worse.

"None of this is fair for any of us, for the matter," Mylenne sighs heavily, shoulders dropping, "But there's nothing we can do about it right now. What we did or didn't do in the past doesn't matter anymore," Arluin and Jarod nod in strong agreement, the former returning his attention to the dozens of letters he's received from his little birds afterwards.

Hargo speaks when the room falls silent, "If I'm allowed to make a comment, let me say I believe you still can turn this in your favor," His voice sounds certain and secure, unlike the rest of dorei in her room, hands clasped behind his back, "Jarod may be a very valuable asset if you both intend to bring Lord Stareye down and take over your Household. Have you thought about that?"

Jarod merely snorts at the comment, "I appreciate the thought, Officer, but Lord Desdel has the upper hand when it comes to what's best for his Household. Besides, Duchess Lunastre listens to his opinion, not Mylenne's," He admits with a frustrated sneer, "And I believe you know what happens to those who don't play the Game properly. Silgryn here is a very nice example of that…"

An insistent knock on the door brings the attention of the whole group, a definitely concerned Illidan striding inside after Arluin allows him in. "Syrana got a letter and left in a rush. Can anyone tell me what's going on?"

As he stares directly at Mylenne, surely waiting for a reply from her part, she feels her throat closing, unable to keep his gaze as guilt courses through her. If she'd have told Illidan about her marriage straight on and from the beginning, perhaps many things would have been easier to handle.

But then, he probably wouldn't have stuck with me all these years…

From her periphery, she notices Silgryn tilting his head, partially lost in thought, "It depends. You happen to have some… infiltration skills, lad?" He says somehow skeptical, as if considering his options. "You know, another weird magic trick under your sleeve?"

For Mylenne's frustration, Illidan's quick in joining in whatever her uncle seems to be currently scheming, a smug smirk showing on his face as he leans on one hip, arms crossed. "We're getting someone out of the dungeons again?"

Out of instinct, the only woman in the room steps in between Illidan and Silgryn, sending the latter a warning look. "I don't like where this is going, Sil…"

Jarod appears to wholeheartedly agree with her concerns, facing Mylenne's uncle with wide open eyes, "You must be kidding us," He growls, "Nearly the whole Rooksguard will be flooding the Estate. Even General Ravencrest and his daughter will be attending!"

When Silgryn merely replies with a growing wicked grin, Mylenne feels like slapping him on the face for such atrocious thought. "I can get us in," Hargo intervenes, stepping on their line of sight so to gather the group's attention, "If the Great Houses and their vassals are also invited as it seems, they'll certainly bring some of the Moonguard with them as well," He then points at Illidan with his chin, "Mooncaller and him can blend in with the Astravars in my stead while I get through the back entrance,"

Arluin clasps his hands eagerly, "Sounds like a plan!" He agrees, bringing up a parchment with what looks like a list of names and giving it a quick glance, "Some of my birds will be working at the kitchens, they can open a couple of doors for us. I can get on it right away, actually,"

As Hargo and her uncle nod in approval, Mylenne grabs Arluin by the arm before he takes his leave, "Elune, this is pure madness! You can't be serious, Sil!" She shouts, trying to make Silgryn—and the rest of the men in the room, for the matter—appeal to reason, "There has to be—"

Silgryn stands up abruptly and leans closer to Mylenne's face, gaze burning with sheer fury, "Has to be what? Another way?" He says ironically, making Illidan and Arluin push him away from her, "If you have something better to propose, then tell us about it. Otherwise, step aside and let me do what I should have done centuries ago,"

Silgryn's rant prompts Illidan to look at him with a confused frown, letting him go as well, "Hold on a second. Who's the target?"

Another wicked grin forms on her uncle's face, wiggling his eyebrows at Illidan. "The newly appointed Commander of the Rooksguard, Lord Desdel Stareye."

A-N: Life has been utter hell lately, leaving me on the verge of giving up for good this time, but oh well, guess I couldn't.

Happy new year to you all and, as always, my thanks and my whole heart goes to those ones who are still sticking with me and my boys. Not gonna say you're saving my life but... yeah, you are.