The Sunwell enlightened our lives and shed its glory upon us, back in the years. It is hard for an outsider to understand its importance for us. It was as essential as the air we breathed, as intoxicating and soothing as Golden Sansam's smoke. For us, drinking on its magic was like drinking water for survival; we downed it as a man in the desert downed water, welcoming an oasis as his last salvation. Every time we would step away from our lands and the Sunwell, darkness would consume our hearts; at least until we returned and paid a visit to the blessed Light, even before we found ourselves a place to rest after a month's long journey. If we stood too much time away, it felt as if we were slowly drowning - and returning to it felt the same a drowning man feels taking the first gulps of fresh air after escaping Death's grip. We worshipped the sacred Sunwell; we were more eager to pay tribute to it than to our beloved dead. The Sunwell was central and vital to our existence - our kingdom was built under its Light, our people raised with its glory. We loved it, with every fiber of our being. We protected it with our lives.

It was in this glorious past, by the Light of the Sunwell, that I met my fiancé. He chose a darker path, filled with demons and curses, but he fed on the Light and loved it almost as much as I did. He was charming and alluring, well versed in coaxing sighs of delight from my lips, and for a moment in my life, I felt I was whole. I thrived in the arcane arts and found a new passion in pyromancy along with my grim Master, my beloved proposed to me and my poor father couldn't even start to guess the mistakes I was hiding from him. The kingdom of Quel'thalas was blooming, and so was I.

And then our world was shattered. The undead tore through our land, raided us, broke us. They left scars on the land, but the most painful of all were the scars they left in our hearts. The destruction of the Sunwell left a hole in my heart, and I almost died because of it. I should have learned, back then, that such dependence on something that could be taken from us could only bring us suffering. Some of us were so addicted to the Light of the Sunwell that they fell with it, and like them, I almost did as well.

I almost lost my fiancé on the siege laid to our capital, but for quite a while I thought my dear father was gone, and so my mourning was deeper. That, on the other hand, is another story.

Luckily, my dearest love was alive - heartbroken and weak, but alive. Our love was strong, and it helped us survive when our souls were weak and withdrawal consumed our minds. I guess I would have gone mad if it wasn't for him. We supported each other, but it wasn't enough for long. We turned to our Prince, seeking help and hope. And curious enough, in the oddest of places, he promised us there was hope - that there was a way back to restoring our glorious kingdom to what it was. And so we were summoned - and joined him to Outlands.

That also proved to be a mistake, but it took a while for me to realize. I had everything I needed at the moment. Fel magic was sweet and numbing, and I was intoxicated. My studies were encouraged, and I had a bunch of brilliant minds by my side - it was stimulating. I had a focus, I was part of something big and important, and we were given a purpose, a horizon. We would save our people. Aside from that... Even my most dark and secret urges were encouraged and fed.

"I'm sure you and your fiancé had a lot of fun," the man interrupted her narrative. "But I guess you're not referring to that, right?"

He showed her that smile again, almost as malicious as his eyes.

"I've seen it, the way you look at the flames," he whispered in her ear. "Sometimes seems like you're hypnotized by them. It's the one of your vices you couldn't get rid of, right? It almost... Seems like lust."

The elf always thought people didn't notice it, but he saw through her.

"Sometimes, I... was summoned. To help people talk, you know?" she said, and even though she didn't have the same malicious smile curving her lips, her eyes were shinning. "Mostly resilient ones. Pyromancy is destructive by nature, but there I learned it could be used, not only to destroy objects and bodies, but also minds and spirits."

"I know. Better than you, actually," the man said, grinning. "What made you realize it was a mistake, then? Life seemed good for you, I must say."

Aiwyn thought for a moment.

"It's hard to explain," she said after a while.

"Well... just try," he said, turning to her, and when she looked at him she found the words.

I felt there was a leash around my neck. We were contributing, doing the Prince's will, so we were rewarded. Like the way you train a dog, you know? It got to a point where our addiction seemed like... a trap, seemed like chains. We were prisoners of our own addiction, and I started to hate it... At least until nightfall and we went back to our chambers to feast on fel magic. But this feeling grew stronger and a seed of doubt was born. And my Master helped it grow stronger.

He never really seemed to like the idea on following Kael'thas' path. We usually communicated through an enchanted mirror placed in my chambers, and I saw that restlessness grow, day by day. Every time we talked and I told him about my personal achievements, or the achievements of Kael'thas elves, I saw a new wrinkle of concern in his forehead. I guess I thought he was worried about my personal safety, or that it was just his way, you know? The sort of thing you tell yourself when, actually, you don't want to acknowledge the truth. I never had the gift for reading people, but that was my Master - I knew him, I walked by his side, I trailed his path and drank on his wisdom. It was starting to get hard not to notice it when not even the faintest sign of appreciation was shown. The most impressive deeds only made his grimace deepen. "We took Tempest Keep, Master! Isn't it wonderful?" I told him once. Without the slightest change in his expression, he just told me "Good. Just be careful". He didn't like the turn of events, but didn't say a thing against it for a good period of time.

But one day, he just spat it all out.

I was coming back to my chambers at nightfall, tired and restless. My studies were exciting, but I had also been helping the botanists with the native plants that day. I hadn't... tapped anything the night before, and it was starting to make me irritated, but even so, my heart rejoiced when I realized my Master was trying to communicate with me. We were keeping these meetings a secret, as he requested, and so I approached a seemingly empty wall and murmured the spell that would reveal the mirror hanging there. It was emitting a soft glow, and as I murmured one more spell, the image of the room reflected on the mirror rippled, and another took its place.

My Master has an almost permanent grim expression, and he was quite old. And rather well preserved for a dead man, too. He didn't talk much about it, but when death came for him, he simply decided he wasn't ready to leave this world. He simply decided to cheat death. For that, he got undeath. The details are a bit cloudy and he gets unbearable when I insist, so that's all I know.

"What took you so long?" He started right away, in that raspy voice in which I found some comfort. "Brushing your hair? You should cut it. It's easier."

He could sound rude for someone who didn't know him, mocking my daily ritual of hair brushing just like that. But for me, it was comforting to talk to him again, and he was actually more caring than he let others realize.

"I love you too, Master." I answered. "I was helping the botanists - that's why I just got here. How are you feeling today?"

"Old. What else?" He replied. "I wish you would do your chores willingly when you're with me. How are you doing?"

Of course, when you make that question to a woman, chances are you won't get a short reply. But patience was a virtue among several my Master had, and he listened patiently as I told him about my day, with details above and beyond the purely necessary. He seemed interested, and it wasn't that faint and fake interest men show just to show they care. He seemed truly interested to know of everything that was happening at Tempest Keep, and so he listened without interrupting me once. When I was finished, he asked:

"And how's Neph doing?"

And as always happened when I talked about Neph - or thought of him, or saw him, or met him - I felt renewed enthusiasm grow inside me. Neph was doing great. He, too, seemed very happy there, thriving at his own field of expertise. He wasn't a mage, but his success was being equally rewarded. I couldn't see it at that time, but now I see it. Neph was so buried in the addiction and in the dark path he chose that my illusion that he could be saved was childish. But my Master saw it, and he wasn't even there.

"...and I realized the reason they don't want to work with this plant, the Flame Cap, is because they don't know how to keep its properties stable," I kept my monologue flowing like wine flows at a good party. "But I devised a plan and I guess it can work. I've worked with a desert herb very similar to that, but if I adapt my strategy, I may be able to devise a potion that can enhance fire spells!" I said, finishing my speech with my victorious conclusion.

But my Master just kept getting more and more grim. He was a rather stern man, but even so it wasn't normal for him to look so... unsatisfied? No, he was... disappointed.

"Master?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

Then I saw that look on his face. He was hesitating in telling me something. It was a rare thing for him, mostly just too blunt and honest to do such a thing. Usually, he didn't mind saying the most terrible things if he believed it to be true and of use for him. I remember when I saw that look on his face before, and it was when I told him I was going to join Kael'thas at Outlands.

"When was the last time you tapped anything?" He asked.

"I... I guess last night... But why...?" I replied, confused.

"Your hands are shaking."

I'd been hoping he wouldn't notice it. My gestures were starting to get a bit more nervous and my hands were definitely shaking. It was withdrawal, I knew it. What I didn't know was how deep I was into the addiction.

"I... It must be because I had nothing to eat in..." I started to mumble.

"You moron."

I stared at my Master, as if I never saw him before. It was normal for him to call me moron, but that day something inside of me snapped. He made me feel like a scolded child, and I couldn't take it anymore. How dare he? I was the moron - me?! I was part of something important, of something that could save our people! I wasn't just a stupid apprentice, eager for his acceptance and love. That moment I felt as something was awakening inside of me - some sort of monster, like a venomous snake that has been distilling its poison. It felt as if a cold snake was rolling around my stomach and its poison was ready to crawl up my throat and hit my Master, shaping words of pure hatred and contempt. But my Master was faster than my hateful thoughts.

"You are weak." He said, and I got so surprised by that, that for a moment I had no idea of how to answer him. I had never felt better. What was he talking about? "Your Flame is burning low."

For a moment I forgot that monster in my stomach, trying to get out to hurt my Master. His words might seem born out of contempt, but he was using the same poised and serene tone he always did. He was not just trying to hurt me for nothing. I looked away for a moment, trying to find anything to answer. He often referred to as "Flame" as one's spirit and will power, strength of mind. Mages willing to walk down the path of the flames must have a strong will, so that they won't destroy themselves. And he said my Flame was burning low? In the depths of my mind, in the back of my head, a voice was trying to be heard; it was screaming a warning: "He is right! Listen to your Master!" Deep down I knew it. Deep down I had already started to doubt if my will was mine and that everything I did was done so that, in the end of the day, I would have fel magic to feast on and my lover to join me. Deep down I was starting to feel like a prisoner of my addiction.

"No!" Said that vicious snake awakened within me, prowling in the shadows. "That's not true! You're not a prisoner! You can stop whenever you want... You don't have to give up such power..." Even though a part of me knew that I should have learned the lesson back at the fall of our kingdom, I didn't want to believe it. This would never happen to me. And the voice of that thing was so silky, so full of promises...

This time my Master looked away, as if searching for the words to use. I remained silent, for I knew he was going to speak his mind and tell me the truth. That's what I needed at that moment, when I felt so divided and confused. Truth. But the truth was not what I wanted it to be.

Finally, he spoke.

"A strong leader is like a well of power and strength," he said. The way he said "well" was certainly calculated to send a pang of longing and pain for the loss of the Sunwell ripping through my heart, and so it did. "Its followers drink from his power, feed on his strength."

"Kael'thas has given us power! Power we could have never dreamed of!," I burst out, embarrassed by the hint of hysteria in my voice. I knew he was about to tell me something I already knew, deep down. The seeds of doubt were already there - he was feeding them, and I was starting to get nervous.

"This is nothing but a lure. He is the light, and you all are the moths," he answered, patiently. "The addiction keeps you under control. It keeps you there, in his hands. This so called power is not truly yours, because your will is not. He can take it anytime he wants. He can use you. He is using you."

I had no answer. No words. Not even anger. Denial was upon me, and some part of me still resisted on taking his words as truth, pathetically staring at his image in the mirror. Looking back at it, I realize that I hadn't lost all of my Flame just yet - it survived enough so I could question myself and my actions, and for that I am fortunate and proud. If it wasn't for that, my Master's words would fall on deaf ears. But at that moment I didn't see all of that. I was just there, staring at him, shocked, but he didn't seem quite finished with me.

"Only weak leaders need that sort of devotion. Only weak leaders need lambs."

That was enough to me.

"I'm not a lamb!" I realized I was almost yelling, so I tried to calm down, but my hands were shaking more than ever. I felt that cold snake in my stomach again, feeling the air, waiting for its way out.

"If you don't believe me, try to stop," he challenged me.

I couldn't help but think. "No, I'm not a docile lamb, just following the shepherd. I'm a prisoner. A prisoner of the addiction. And Kael'thas is feeding this addiction to keep us under control. Under his control. It seems like... a golden cage. It is comfortable, but it is a cage, nonetheless."

Now I know that Kael'thas was as much a victim as we were. I know that he was being manipulated the same way he was manipulating us. Still no one but him could be blamed by all that he had done - the same way no one could be blamed, but us, for following him eagerly, without questioning. I should have noticed it before, I should have seen there was something wrong. I should have questioned such blind devotion... It was comfortable. We left the burden of thinking for someone else and, little by little, slowly, we were forgetting who we were. We were fading into blind devotion. We were fading into the addiction. We were weak.

"Aiwyn..."

My Master was calling me again, and I realized he was watching me closely. I bet he could almost see the gears turning inside my head, and seemed satisfied with it - relieved, even, to see his words wouldn't go unheard. But over and above that, he seemed worried. If it were anyone else, I'd have said "afraid".

"You have the most beautiful Flame I have ever seen," he said, surprising me, and again I had no idea how to answer. "Don't let them take it from you."

"Good night, Master," I said, putting an end to the spell that made it possible for us to talk.

My head and my heart were torn and confused. I had no idea of what to do about it. I needed time for my mind to apprehend what my Master told me.

That night, I tapped on fel magic again and made love to Neph as if it was the last time. That cold and venomous monster inside of me seemed to calm down and even disappear. Usually, at a moment like that, my doubts would vanish like mist vanishes with the sunrise. But not that time.

I tried to do what my Master challenged me to: I tried to stop. I would prove him wrong and my doubts would vanish, washed away by waves like footsteps on the beach sand. I would show him the truth.

Withdrawal is cruel, and in our own dominions the sources of arcane power were so abundant it was truly hard to resist. Mana crystals, filled with arcane power for us to feast upon, were extremely common in Tempest Keep. Silver threads of paranoia seized my mind and started to wind through it, weaving the seductive whispers bound to lure me, only so I could start to fear what was beyond every corner or just passed that corridor. Instead of being a sanctuary, Tempest Keep started to feel like the lair of a faceless monster, a silent hunter who has woven traps and temptations in every corner. And even when I went to the safest of hiding places, the temptations sought me out.

The "safest of hiding places" to me meant the library, and there's where I could be found one afternoon after I talked to my Master. It was perfect in there, where no one would notice my shaking hands and the blissful silence was gentle to my head. I felt like my brain was swollen, trying to crack my skull open, and even the sound of a creaking door made me feel someone was sticking needles into my brain. I found myself a corner where the daylight wouldn't reach me and buried my face in a book, wishing time could pass faster.

In that sanctuary, where I thought I'd find peace, Nalysa shattered my peace as she approached, hopping happily. That day her voice seemed higher pitched and her happiness, annoying and torturing for my shaken mind. Nalysa is one of my oldest friends, and I'd known her since we were kids. Not always did our paths coincide, but whenever we saw each other again, it's like we'd never been separated. She's got this gift - or curse - of looking happy all the time, and that could even be contagious. But I cursed her happiness as she took a seat by my side.

"Look! My new robe is done! What do you think?" she asked me. We've reached a point in our relationship where greetings seemed useless.

"It's nice, it's... purple. It'll match your... well, everything," I answered. "Everything you own is purple."

As she sat, she took some parchment paper and started to write. Usually, when people want to keep a conversation a secret, they talk in whispers. Nalysa and me wrote it down and burned the paper afterwards. Not that our secrets were dangerous...

"So, how's Ala'Nyr? Is she still recovering?" she asked as she passed me a note where I could read "My project was accepted, and Falthan's wasn't".

Recalling Ala'Nyr put a fool's smile on my lips. She is a phoenix that, more or less, I inherited from my mother. For the last couple weeks she's been recovering from an attack she suffered while trying to defend me - the first days were hard, but as soon as she got out of danger, I relaxed and stopped annoying the elf who was taking care of her. She has bright golden feathers that sometimes seems to be glowing, capturing the slightest beam of light and returning it ten times stronger; but what I love most about her are her blazing red eyes, fierce and strong. She is a piece of home. From the moment I took my first flight, I knew I would be the best flier, and Ala'Nyr made it possible. She was not only my mount or my pet - she was like a sister to me, my best friend; and flying on her back, letting her wings take me anywhere could heal any sickness of the heart or mind. The wind would eventually blow away any thoughts and bring me peace, with a couple of flaps of Ala'Nyr's wings.

"Yes, but they say she'll soon be able to fly again," I said, getting the paper and writing beneath her first line: "Seems like now he's your archenemy. Details!"

Killing Nalysa's happiness always felt to me like kicking a puppy, and so I obliged and put on a mask of cordiality for her sake. At first, this mask felt awkward and just wrong, but between lighter conversations and jokes, it gradually started to fade and stopped being an act. Even though my head still ached and I was trying to focus on the conversation at a cost, Nalysa managed to make me forget my suffering for a moment. She started to detail Falthan's mistakes and imply that his impotent behavior was surely because of a small dick.

"...and he goes like 'Behold! This is MY awesome idea. So now just stand back in awe' as if we don't remember it is one of Il'than's abandoned projects," she wrote.

"Didn't Il'than abandon the research because he thought it wasn't worth his time? Falthan sure does talk a lot, but I've heard other stories about his... performance," I wrote back, as time seemed to run faster to the other side of the hourglass. Nalysa seemed delighted.

"What did you hear? Tell me!" she quickly wrote the reply.

My focus diverged from my pain as I put one word in front of the other, but not for long. I couldn't fool anyone for so long.

"Are you okay?" she asked out loud at one point, when I was writing.

"Why do you ask?"

"Your hands are shaking."

My hands were betraying me again, no matter how much I tried to conceal it. But I felt I couldn't tell Nalysa of my doubts. Such serious conversation didn't have a place among silly remarks about men's cocks and butts. And I always felt protective over Nalysa, the same way the older sister feels over her siblings. She should be spared of my doubts and weaknesses. She shouldn't know.

"I'm trying to create a potion that can soothe withdrawal's symptoms. I need to test it, but no one wants to be my test subject," I told her the first thing that came to mind. Truth be said, sometime ago I was, indeed, trying to brew a potion like that, but I was required for more important projects and had to abandon it.

"And you thought of being your own test subject? You're so brave!" she said, laughing innocently. I could be a bad liar, but her candidness made most of my lies sound plausible. "You're trying that again? Don't be silly! Here's the cure for withdrawal."

Nalysa quickly went through a small purse she had with her and put in front of me a small and brilliant mana crystal.

"This round is on me. But I have to get going. I need to prepare some specifications of my project. See ya later," she said as she prepared to go, burning the paper we've been writing on. And so, like a summer rain that comes and goes as it pleases, as sudden as it can be... she was gone.

The blessed freshness of the summer rain was short lived and the chilly fingers of autumn soon became the icy claws of winter, reaching out for something in my very core. I stared at the mana crystal she left on the table, and the promise its glittery beauty offered me casted a spell upon my willpower. The crystal was purple, the color of brute arcane power, power that seemed to be revolving in a small storm inside it; it was beautiful, seductive. Hypnotizing. I could see my own tormented face reflected in some of its many irregular facets, and felt like a trained dog trying to resist a piece of meat. Frost claws climbed up my spirit and tried to reach out for my willpower, for my Flame.

"Don't let them take it from you," he said. The crystal just stood there, gleaming innocently like a living entity, mocking my inner conflict - mocking the resistance of my Flame, a candle in a snowstorm. Again I was fully aware of the headache that surged and pounded against my eyes with renewed strength; of the twitching hand that reached out for the crystal. When I realized it was my own hand, I stopped. The soft light the crystal emanated was pulsating in the rhythm of a living heart, and my hand moved towards it once again. After a brief battle, a pathetic staccato dance between my willpower and my hunger, my shaking fingers tenderly embraced it, and the power contained by the crystal felt the accelerating cadence of my heart, joining it, beating within. I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and for a moment felt the power beneath my fingers, at my disposal, calling for me - before I buried the crystal in the depths of my pocked, drawing my hand as if scorched.

I would not give up, not now.

But even though I resisted that moment, I failed later on. I was starting to get irritable and unbearable to all those around me. I told myself I did for their sake, but I was just fooling myself. All my body started to ache, and as Nalysa stated, the cure was just at my reach. I failed and tasted once again the sweet and numbing power of fel magic when Neph came looking for me in another place I deemed safe: the laboratory.

My unstable mood managed to scare off those few elves that enjoyed working late at night at the alchemy laboratory - I suspect they found it wouldn't be wise to stay close to me when I was surrounded by fragile flasks filled with substances as unstable as myself. So I found myself alone, and except for the bubbling of some potions sitting eternally on braziers, there was sweet, oh so sweet silence. Surrounded by books, flasks, pots, plants and a myriad of alchemy devices, I found peace.

I was standing next to a large wooden table, writing down on my journal the progress of my studies. Before me I had oil I managed to extract from Flame's Cap, a very curious plant native of Zangarmarsh that I was quite fond of. My hands were still shaking, but for a brief and sweet moment I forgot my pain, my headache, my torment. I was focused on my research and there was no place for pain in my mind; there was no place for nothing but my studies, for the formula I was trying to find, hidden in the depths of all the knowledge I had collected so far. The challenge, the puzzle, was enough to keep my mind going on even though my body was exhausted and begged for a soft bed. My eyes jumped constantly between notes, flasks, books and my journal, as I was fully concentrated and completely immerse in a world of formulae, calcul[J1] ations[L2] and theories.

It took me a while to achieve such state of focus, and when I did, my headache seemed to be contained to a small room in the back of my mind, poking me constantly, but otherwise manageable. My twitching hands made my writing seem like a cryptic message, but it could be worse.

Then I heard the creaking of the door, and silently cursed with every curse I knew the person who just entered the laboratory, closing the door afterwards. I didn't even turn, collecting what remained of my willpower to stay silent and be polite, closing my eyes and praying for patience as I noticed once more my headache pounding behind my eyes like a hammer. Almost immediately I regretted all that cursing, since the voice that came floating to me was the only voice that could make a wave of warm relief and joy invade my heart.

"My love... What are you doing in here so late?" Neph said, as he approached to take a look at what I was doing, his silky voice claiming my focus and making my heart rate rise slightly, as always. "Let's go to bed..."

Even though I didn't turn to see him, I heard the grin in his voice. I knew him enough - he came to me filled with energy and lust and patience to torture me. He stood beside me and just shot a glance at my work, before turning my head to him, demanding my lips, giving me the lightest of pecks. He gave me just the smallest taste of his soft lips, just so I could take a sip on his love; just a quick glance at his radiant, mischievous eyes, before I could drown on his lust. Not without some difficulty, I turned my eyes back to my notes. What was I doing, again?

"Let me just finish this, then," I said, although I felt my focus was already slipping through my fingers and I started to notice how that brief taste of his affection made me yearn for more, sending a wave of pleasure down my spine.

"Do you mind if I stay here watching you?" he asked, his deep voice trying to take what remained of my concentration and take me to a place where only love could exist.

Neph loved to taunt me, provoke me - lead my desire to a place so high above it was hard to breathe, only so we could experience the sweet fall, that feeling of lightness, of blissful emptiness, where we truly lived the present. He stood behind me, putting each hand on the table, on each side of my body. I could feel his robe ruffling behind me, but he wasn't truly touching my body, and I suddenly found myself eager for his touch. I felt his burning desire radiating from him in warm waves that awakened some primal entity inside me, catching fire with his sparkle of desire.

"What are you doing, darling?" he spoke softly by my ear, his lips brushing my skin ever so lightly and sending lustful shivers down my entire body. This is one weakness all elves share: our sensitive ears. I felt his voice in my skin, heard him with my heart, and in a moment or so realized my body screamed and begged for his, without much more effort than a peck on the lips and a whisper.

"I... I'm describing the... basic properties of Flame's Cap oil," I said, after a few seconds I needed to put the words in the right order. It was hard to think right now, as my brain refused to function properly.

"And what are they?" he asked, as he ran his right hand up my spine and gently moved away my hair, leaving my skin exposed for his warm lips.

"You're not interested," I told him, as my body seemed to struggle to decide which sensations should be prioritized; I felt relaxed and tense at the same time. He started to rub his hand up my back, rubbing my ribs and sliding his thumbs along my spine. I felt my stress and tension dissolving under his skillful touch, but in spite of that my heart was still racing and my breath was rising to a quickening panting as he started to lay soft kisses on my neck. The tension abandoned my shoulders and my back to concentrate on my loins; the weight I was carrying became that torturing pain of yearning and desire.

I accepted his body with the pleasure someone would feel laying the head on a soft pillow after a hard day of work. Our bodies were tuned into each other's needs; our souls could read each other with no more than a glance. I needed him to take me to a place where my pain wouldn't find me, and it would seem he readily answered, as if my unconscious mind sent him a pitiful yelp. And he came. He always did.

Not only was Neph charming and alluring, but he knew my body better than me I did. He knew where and how; my limits, my expectations. My notes were promptly forgotten as I melted under my lover's hands and leaned back to feel his body, closing my eyes as he embraced me and kept on rubbing my ribs and kissing my shoulder. His hands were not rough - he was not a warrior, nor a sailor. He was a scholar, a warlock - his hands were crafty, sly. Patient. I let my guard down. In his arms I was safe. In his love, I was protected from the world out there.

Somewhat numbed, somehow forgetting where we were, I barely realized when his hands wandered up my chest and pulled my cleavage down. When I felt my heart pounding wildly against his hand, an involuntary sigh escaped my lips and inconvenient, hard reality suddenly slapped me in the face. We were not in our warm, comfortable chambers - we were standing at the cold and uninviting laboratory, where anyone could come and go anytime.

"N-Neph!" I gasped, looking around, as if expecting someone to enter the lab.

"You know what would make this even better?" he asked me, ignoring my hesitation as he quickly went through his pocket and slipped something to my hand.

I knew what it was even before he wrapped my fingers around it. He embraced my smaller hand with his own, pressing my palm against a mana crystal before showing it to me. This one was green, bright, filled with so corruptive and sweet fel magic.

Bewitched, the temptation of fel magic was harder to resist. We were addicts, arcane magic was our addiction, and fel magic was a purified drug, stronger, sweeter, the embodiment of our desire, of our corruptive thirst. Just a taste of it could bring euphoria to our hearts and sooth the pain of our minds. Temptation crystallized it was, and there was no strength for resistance left in me. Not with Neph's silky voice in my ear; not with his experienced hand feeling my exposed skin, exploring my weakness with the tip of his hungry fingers, trying to make me scream with delight. My breath became a panting, my body was scalding, and my will was his.

"Neph! What... what if someone...?" I muttered weakly, a final attempt of resistance sent from the back of my consciousness. At that moment, my resolve of staying clean was already forgotten. Withdrawal? Just a past nightmare.

"I locked the door," he said, whispering in my ear as I tightened my grip on the crystal beneath our hands.

I failed.

"So what are you waiting for?"

I guess I was wrong about my doubts: they weren't drawings made with a stick in the beach sand, washed away by the tide. That experience only made it clear it was easy to control someone with an addiction and carved my doubts in stone, making its presence undeniable and impossible to ignore.

Still, I was confused and torn. At one side, there was Kael'thas, our Prince, our role model. He was truly the most radiant light, a lighthouse. He was hope. There was also Neph. My soul mate. My love. But at the other side I had my Master, grim, blunt... and the most honest and wise man I've ever met. The man who tended and cared for me, and the embodiment of wisdom.

"The way you say it...," the man once again interrupted her narrative. "Seems like you'd already made your choice."

"Not at that time, no," Aiwyn answered. Once her body started to cool down, she felt cold and pulled some sheets over her body. "I was worried about Neph. He was much deeper into the addiction than I was. But... I had hope he wasn't beyond a point of no return."

"But what made you realize your Master was right?," the man asked her. "Did something happen?"

Yes, something happened. She answered:

"Kirin'Var."