A/N

It took me a while, but I am slowly moving forward. I hope you all still stick with me. As I said, it's Sylvanas's turn now. Be prepared and enjoy!

Thank you, Taedae, and Windcage. Where would I be without you?


"Wrynn―"

Agony, pure agony. Anduin shot up, startled, and realized he'd fallen asleep on his father's desk again. If he'd thought to have gradually accepted the pain Sylvanas pushed him through, he was wrong. Another weird dream left him sweating. One he could remember many details of, associated with the never ending yearning for her. Anduin swallowed. She'd spoken to him, almost as if she were close, but he was alone in the dim corner of the room.

"Wrynn."

His heart beat way too fast. The long blond hair was glued to his skin while he rested in an upright position, catching his breath.

The rain and the wind rattled against the windows, the young king feeling the same inside. He lived, yes he did, but with all the negative side effects again! It was sickening, heartbreaking and regrettably real.

Despite working long hours, finding solutions on paper, and barely sleeping before a new day began, he still suffered. Only an iron grip on his composure guaranteed to get some things done.

The single highlight of his routine was spending an hour riding on Reverence each day. To meld with his horse was his reward; he allowed himself to cry, to scream, to laugh, and to despair. The horse galloped well-behaved, as if it understood the torment his rider went through and couldn't find any other release for but on its back.

A deep sigh escaped him. How had his relationship with the Horde's Warchief changed from an unforgettable kiss to fading away like ships in a sea battle? They kept coming back for each other, caught in a cycle. Would there be another round between them after the recent one, though?

That Sylvanas left, with so much hatred and contempt thrown at him, was still a source of his distress and ache. That he wasn't able to solve her problems. Not to speak of his burning as well!

He leaned back and relaxed into the chair, thinking of his dream. It was so vivid! It had trapped them in pure darkness; he was alongside her. Why? Would she always stay the core of his very existence? The center he gravitated toward without resistance because she kissed him?

In his dream, a cruel laugh had echoed everywhere, even into the bones of its two targets, crushing their hapless forms.

"Here you are."

The menacing laugh had made him almost deaf, and he supposed Sylvanas, too. When hands had come out of the darkness and gripped them, he'd desperately tried to move back in terror. No! He'd felt like running, but there was nothing he could do. The hands had had them both in a powerful grasp, pulling apart, forcing them to give in. Above all there had been this maniacal laughter he believed to be Arthas, because there existed no other person who still held such power over the undead elf at his side. Horrible pictures whirred through his brain of her agonizing pain. A soul reaped repeatedly until―supported by threats and merciless attacks―it ripped apart.

The rising panic inside of him afflicted him to this very moment. It had been too much to bear. He'd slashed around, and, instinctively, a beam of his light, blinding, too bright, blasted in the darkness. The pale hands, tearing and quartering, had shrieked and drawn back. The light had run rampant and touched them, turning all into a violent-golden flash.

It had been both a relief and excruciating.

Even though the giant ball of clawing hands had dissolved into nothing, Sylvanas screeched. His breath had hitched, fearing she was going to die. He'd stretched out his hands when the dark surroundings had meandered into a dull gray, and seen her flowing figure turning toward the light, toward him.

"Wrynn."

She'd opened her eyes, and Anduin froze. How radiantly had she glowed in the dull place while she'd looked straight into his gaze! He'd reached out toward her, wanting to hold on to make sure she was fine, when they both had exploded in a giant fireball.

Anduin groaned and rocked back and forth. The memory was still too vivid. Will we ever be on speaking terms again? I feel so useless.


The Warchief of the Horde herself sat under a towering tree for shade. Not far from the waterfall splattering down into the Valley of Wisdom, but far enough to spend some time undisturbed in Orgrimmar. The cool mist the waterfall cast mostly cloaked the view upward and kept her hidden. It was also the Tauren's valley, a tribe known she wasn't fond of, so nobody assumed her to be there. She sorely needed to be alone!

The visions haunting her since that night she contacted the young king in Boralus Harbor resonated inside of her and didn't halt. Yes, how could she think to have come to terms with the feelings for him when her reality varied widely?

Unable to relax, her emotional discomfort caused her to be argumentative whenever a new decision had to be made. Her angry outbursts were out of proportion to the circumstances. She knew it, but she could neither fix it nor get a grip on herself. She lashed out at others over little things to mask her own pain regarding the genuine issue: the warmth inside of her wasn't gone.

Her jaw ached from keeping herself together. The brightness surrounding her when she had stayed outside Orgrimmar's Orphanage unsettled her to no end, so she adamantly adhered to her darkness. Being undead for a felt eternity, and met with dismissal everywhere, she validated it like a certificate which granted her immunity. Yet why had the darkness secured the Light at its side?

Only because she kissed … a young boy, not unlike the one who made her into the monster she was now and got her in touch with life again?

Sylvanas didn't know how to cope. Her hand constantly glimmered when she pulled off her gauntlets, so she chose to wear them all the time. Despite thinking nothing could frighten her again, more problems plagued her. Incapable of taking any action and planning anything, this seemed to remain an unknown path. Where would it lead her? She was truly at the very end of her wits.

Music wafted up from Miwana's Longhouse, the tauren's inn located beneath her in the Valley, and she recognized the song. It captured her attention, and she succumbed to it, mentally shaken.


The melody took Sylvanas to a different place. She wore a beautiful low-necked gown, shimmering in purple colors, and swayed to the classy music played by a band. Her gaze wandered, confused as to where she was now, from the bar to the lightly blue-tinted windows with an eerie glow behind. What she could make outside were … coniferous trees? And grass?

Looking back into the taproom, there were chairs and tables, a lot of space in the middle, and a cozy fireplace on the side. The lights were turned down in order to give the room a little more atmosphere. Gallows End Tavern?

Yes. Many forsaken worked there, dressed at their best. Some blood elves gathered around, occasionally tauren and other races. Skull Shocker was in high demand, and they sold an equal amount of beer.

Sylvanas turned back to the bar and grabbed a bottle handed to her when a dark-hooded figure appeared next to her. She glanced at him, and he smiled at her. Anduin?! Was he the reason?

Stunned and transfixed in her pose, her eyes widened. The young king wasn't dressed in his royal outfit but in something very casual to fit in. The white shirt underneath had the last buttons opened―for her?―and she admired the muscled chest that spiked from it. How could she remember the feeling of his hot, taut skin under her hands from another recent dream so well?

The moment also fed her a complete meal of stomach butterflies, jumpy heartbeats, and a racing pulse. Excitement and optimism spread inside of her, and she couldn't dismiss it. A low groan escaped her as the entire kaleidoscope of positivity she hated with every fiber of her undead body gifted her with a liveliness. How much his raspy, bright voice resounded in her when he called her by her name! She was close to capitulating to its unyielding force.

"Sylvanas."

Yet an answer never left her lips as a female blood elf clad in red interrupted them, familiarly touching the young king by his arm. "May I have this dance?"

He turned toward the elf and nodded kindly. "Of course."

With a regretful look thrown at her, he followed the beautiful female to the dance floor and went into the appropriate posture.

Hot-white fury raced through Sylvanas as she helplessly watched how intimately the elf leaned into Anduin's arms. How their bodies got in touch with each other, the band switching to a slow dance. She never doubted the young king knew how to dance, which was why she wanted to get this first dance with him! Her grip around the bottle of the Undercity Skull Shocker tightened, close to crushing it.

Only then, she became aware of the heat flushing through her body, as well as the related tingles of discomfort and displeasure. The demand of immediate action, close to an explosion, wasn't unknown to her, however, that she sweated, was! Her skin was clammy. Droplets trickled a path between her breasts. Since when did it get so hot in the tavern? Moisture puddled in her palms, causing the green bottle to almost slide if she hadn't had it in such a forceful grip.

The amount of feelings paired with the shocking bodily experience threatened to annihilate the undead elf. Did she really have irrational reactions to inconsequential matters? Was she able to … function?

Numbed as only a Forsaken could be, she'd walked through realms of the dead, landscapes of gray and dark, and they all went by without notice. Now, with kissing Anduin, her world turned into a volcano, ready to explode every moment. Multicolored. No longer factual. And more scaring than any hellfire Sylvanas ever went through!

Her eyes shot down at her right hand which, of course, glimmered. She gave a frustrated growl. This became close to an obsession now!

Directing her glance back to the dancefloor, the music not having ended yet, she focused on the young king to distract herself. Observing Anduin's body, which was excessively smooth and muscular, the hips and buttocks rounded, covered her in more sweat. She didn't realize before that every move he did was gracious, and her hand itched with the want to give him a smart smack on the bottom for what he did to her.

At the same moment, Sylvanas thought about smacking herself. Why? Why was she trapped in these emotions?

Didn't she send the young human away? She was not … made of this world anymore! I have no time for games. In a second of lucidity, she stormed toward the dancefloor and reached out to Anduin―


And found herself sitting on rocky ground and listening to the music coming up from the Inn along with the indistinct murmur of the waterfall. The sun glowed red as it sank slowly behind the mountains of Durotar and painted the Valley of Wisdom in delicate pastel shades. And it also colored the crisis of her actual condition: her body vibrated.

Sylvanas was in a rude awakening. How … did it happen? Wasn't it an illusion she just had?

The reality spoke in different volumes. With all that she felt, she even strummed from the music's last tune. In a fit of raging anger, she wrenched the gauntlets from her hands. Warmth spread throughout her torso, and when she gazed down on her bare fingers, she also realized the wetness. Was that sweat? Hell, it really was, and it was hers! Another drop formed, a fluid, odorless, trickling down from the brow in her hand.

Her spine tingled, the more so when she stroked her palm and tried to rub it away. And by doing it, she could sense the sudden coldness that bit at her core which left her speechless, again. Did she notice the cold even though she was undead?

She jumped to her feet.

The want to scream became unbearable, and Sylvanas rushed her hands toward her mouth to cover it. She felt both well-known despair and annoyance at the unjust treatment she received; subjected to torture again! Her gaze turned toward the sky, which had become dark, as if it could bring back her own darkness.

How could fate be so cruel to her? Why did the imagination of a very young blond boy hold such power? Closing her eyes, she swore a picture of Anduin by her inner self. In his golden-plated armor, with a ponytail, and a warm aura surrounding him that had reminded her of Lirath, her brother, and Verath, her father. No. She shoved away the painful memory of her family and concentrated on the image of the young king. Did she ever spot that he watched her with that inscrutable look she identified as a mixture of terror, admiration, and pure want? A want that echoed in her, too. To grab and kiss him grew into a burning desire, her resistance becoming increasingly brittle―

"Dark Lady."

Sylvanas swiveled around, her bow and arrow immediately drawn, only for another shot of radiant heat to ripple through her hands. Burning. Her bow and arrow clattered to the ground, and the Warchief of the Horde stood frozen, staring at her glowing palms, shaking. She'd acted out of pure instinct, too deeply caught in thoughts.

Why wasn't she allowed to forget what she'd been infected with? This was a nightmare, added to the many others she had to live through!

"Dark Lady?"

The second, almost soft call of her title had Sylvanas's attention, at last. Thankfully, the voice belonged to Apothecary Vallia, looking with concern at her, accompanied by a Tauren orphan child, who clung to her hand.

"He saw you here and showed me, Warchief," the Forsaken female said in that serene voice which characterized her personality.

"Apothecary," Sylvanas choked, trying to gather herself. "Do I still have your silence?"

"Of course." Vallia nodded and sent a reassuring glance down to the child while she added, "He can't speak."

Sylvanas was searching for words. "You saw … what happened?"

"Your secret is, as always, safe with me, Dark Lady." Vallia pointed at her glowing hands. "Are they still light-touched? They didn't get better?"

"No."

"Did you not use―"

"Futile."

Vallia didn't react for a while, until the child at her side cautiously squeezed her hand and pulled. "You may forgive me, Dark Lady, but I'm worried." She hesitated. "Will you come to my hut later? I may have another idea …"

"Another idea? Tell me now, Apothecary."

The female forsaken shook her head. "I am at your service, Dark Lady, but considering the sensitive issue, we might discuss it in a more private setting?"

Sylvanas, visibly still out of her depth, replied after a slight pause. "I will meet you later at your place, then."

Nodding in agreement, Vallia left her. Staring at her bow and arrow for some time, Sylvanas stood there, a dark, brooding presence, making efforts to hope for the better. But whatever solution Vallia offered, she slowly doubted that anybody could have the means to end this.

She wearily picked her weapons up from the ground and geared herself. If nothing helped, she grimly thought, there was an option left. Yet, to visit Anduin once more—even if it meant to take his life—wasn't something she was keen on repeating. The prospect of her darkness protecting him and probably causing her own Last Death instead filled her with dread.


Vallia's house on the Drag's upper level was easy to find for Sylvanas; her feet had brought her there often while Anduin … had rested from his madness. Again, she cursed herself for saving Varian's son, for whom she'd done what she did out of respect and former friendship. Perhaps the thoughts of her own family had played a role, too? Sylvanas exhaled a deep sigh before she entered the apothecary's hut. It was dark except for the laboratory's desk venting greenish vapor which created a homely atmosphere reminding her of Undercity. But those times were gone.

The female forsaken came down the small staircase and greeted her. "Dark Lady."

"Apothecary," Sylvanas greeted back, only to get straight to the point. "You mentioned you had an idea concerning my … situation. Tell me."

She looked ruefully. "I only said it to get you here. But I studied many books and talked to Muraga, Brunda, and Yelmak," Vallia added while checking after her conical flasks.

It appalled the Warchief. "You told them about my status?"

"No, Dark Lady," Vallia slowly shook her head. "I only spoke to them about cases in which magic … had unusual ways to express itself."

"I see. And?"

"What I took from them was," the apothecary paused a little, "that one has always to go back to the source."

Sylvanas stared at her, half expecting such an answer. "So I am cursed forever."

"Perhaps not. You could return to the young king and—"

"I already did, and it got worse."

"Worse? How?"

"Vallia, look at me." For the first time, the personal name slipped over the Warchief's lips. She removed her gauntlets and presented her glowing hands, both now shining out in the dark with shimmering iridescence. "As you've seen today, I cannot fight. The strength to do so just leaves me whatever weapon I choose. Also," she closed her eyes, "I am set aflame. The warmth inside of me won't go away. On the contrary, it gets hotter the more time passes. Today, I even sweated. My taste returns. And I feel too many things at once."

Quiet fell into the room, until Vallia raised her strangely echoing voice. "That happens to the Forsaken who still adhere to their faith in the Holy Light, Dark Lady. You show the same signs. Did it never occur to you—"

"Signs?" Sylvanas echoed, only to break out in a mocking laughter. "As if I haven't suffered enough!" She stopped and faltered, her tone getting dangerously quiet and serious. "It means I cannot get an annulment."

"Is the return of your senses not a pleasant experience?"

"That is beside the point, Apothecary. I have to lead a faction in case you forgot."

"I did not, Dark Lady. I just tried to show you the positive side of it. Does it cause any harm or damage to your undead body?"

"No. But I cannot go into war like that!"

"You could, like every leader, stay behind the lines."

"I was a Ranger-General once. Fighting is my second nature, and it's the only thing I have left, Vallia!"

"Dark Lady." The female forsaken stepped toward Sylvanas, who paced up and down, and bowed. "Forgive me for being blunt, but after checking all possibilities, I believe to meet the young king again might be your only chance to change your situation."

"The danger is too great; I am not going to chance it!"

"He's the reason you are light-touched, so you might find a solution together with him—"

"Together?" Sylvanas came to an abrupt halt.