Disclaimer: I do not, have never, and will never, own the copyright of the characters appearing in this story.

A/N: Angst. Insanity. Hallucinations. Rated PG-13 for the same reasons… Not for the faint-hearted.

And no, I'm not insane, but felt it had been some time since I last came up with a good angst-story… R&R and tell me what you think. And yes, the title has something to do with it.

The Mage's Curse

His eyes followed the red drop as it slithered down the wall, encountered a small outcropping, and collected at the tip, growing to three times its original size. With something that seemed like abandon, it relinquished its hold and fell almost gracefully through the air, landing with a tiny blob in the puddle that filled the room and disappearing in the other blood.

Shivering, he closed his eyes, yet the picture would not leave. He saw them, again and again, lying on the floors with their throats cut. He saw the blood flowing from the cuts, tainting the floor and dripping softly from the walls where it had been spilled.

Could bodies contain this much blood? Enough to fill this whole room..? His mind refused to handle it, and he pulled his knees up to his chin, hiding his face against them in an attempt to shut the pictures out. But they prevailed, appearing before his eyes even as his eyelids covered them. Another shiver ran though him, and he clutched at his head, the slight pain distracting him just the tiniest.

//It was all your fault.//

His mind was a jumble.  He saw their faces, as they were when they had been alive, but the shadow of them, dead, still hovered over his thoughts, obscuring the images and twisting them into images of dead and life in one.

The silent drip-drip of blood falling to the floor, adding to the pool already covering the room. His dearest friends in the centre of the room, their lifeless eyes looking at him as if asking why he had allowed this to happen.

"Not my fault..," he whispered, yet his voice was not the slightest convincing.

Drip-drip-drip. The red drops steadily fell, splattering onto the walls.

//They came for you. And you led them straight into the trap, even though you knew it was there…//

He shuddered, trying to shy away from the blood, already feeling filth covering him that no amount of water ever would be able to clean away.

//They trusted you… And you failed them…//

Black hands mindlessly tugged at his white hair, his eyes focusing again on a drop making its way down the opposite wall. His chest pained as a sob escaped him.

"My fault..," he whispered, closing his eyes as another shiver ran through his body.

Their names.. What were their names? His mind would not cooperate, would not tell him. Drip-drip-drip, the droplets fell steadily, like the ticking of a clock.

He took a steadying breath, trying to tell himself it was not true. Yet, it was there. Walls, floor, ceiling, door.. Everything was coated in the blood. Blood everywhere…

The dripping continued, barely audible, yet there. The only focus in the hellworld he was in. His worst nightmare come true.

His eyes flickered to the door. He had pounded it, clawed at it, begged and yelled to be let out of the room – to be let away from the blood dripping softly. Yet, they had refused, claiming it was for his own best.

Drip, drip, drip… Unaffected by his emotional distress, the drops continued to fall all around him, slithering down the walls, dropping from the ceiling and running from the cut throats.

It tickled through the dwarf's beard, as if searching its way through the tangled mass to join the rest of the blood on the floor. Droplets dotted auburn tresses, splattering her features. A tiny mace, glistering with the liquid, was still clutched in the lifeless hand of its owner…

Drip. Drip. Drip…