<div class="floatright">(http://i47.tinypic.com/359idsp.jpg)</div><em>In her dreams she saw herself seated under a rowan tree, appropriately named "Witch wood". The moon glistened upon her copper locks, and enwreathed her in an almost ethereal glow. She looked as if she were merely mist. Spread before her were stones, spattered with crimson. A dagger was held in one hand, forgotten, the other lay bleeding, rested lightly within her lap. Her voice spoke out entranced.<br/><br/>"Till Death..."<br/><br/>It was a whisper of an oath made long before she even understood what it entailed. Memories haunted like ghosts, wisping here and there within the confines of her head. Things left unspoken, things left undone. Her nature was to be stoic, regal, brutal &amp; unfeeling and she played those emotions so completely that they had over taken her. <br/><br/>Pale green eyes narrowed on the symbols she had patterned out before her with small rocks. She had sliced her Kris dagger over her palm and watched as with a soft patter her lifeblood went smattering over the white pebbles. Words spilled from her mouth in an ancient language, her chant denied time, as if the words were spoken commonplace, so fluent was her lilting voice.<br/><br/>She heard herself ask for intervention and protection, for truths to be revealed. What she then received would be far more complex then she had been expecting. The dream darkened in her mind, a vision had coming while she watched her dreamself pray over the sigil of the Mother Goddess, Maeryn then saw herself lose her breath with a gasp watching her eyes roll where only the whites shown. In a flash, she could no longer see her dream self instead she saw the following. <br/><br/>A battle ensued, so many deaths, so many cut down. Fires raged and the screams of hundreds echoed within her ears. From the whitened depths of her eyes tears trickled at what she saw. Innocents mutilated by mercenaries who cared not who they killed, because the price had been correct. Maeryn shook at the details as they showed themselves to her in her minds eye. The battle continued on, a man baring the Crest of Tirasfell, and wearing a crown fought valiantly. Her King? Blasts of fire scorched through her and a jolt shook her, as the screams escaped and she was lying upon her back, eyes staring at the cells dirty ceiling while she tried to control her breathing. The vision having ended with the King taking her very own hand, while a Dragon rose up and destroyed them both. She awoke screaming, the sounds and smells of the dank cell overcoming her so that she wretched alongside herself.  The night terror had been more then she bargained for and it took her moments of deep long breaths as she tried to calm from the it. <br/><br/>She clenched her hands, the sticky warm blood from where she yanked at her irons slickening the feeling. Whatever Hahrutyne had been trying to show her, had been eclipsed by the Mistress's fear of fire, the Dragons wrath throwing her from the  dream perhaps before its actual point had been revealed. She frowned a low wail dragged from her throat...Lord Fosten had still not come, but she knew he would, her dream had shown them together. Even with that knowledge giving her a glimmer of hope,  how did one adjust to seeing their own demise.<br/><br/>A whisper escaped her hoarse and pleading... "Hurry... please.." She closed her green eyes and continued to pray for Fostens arrival. She did not know how much longer she had. </em><br/><br/><hr/><br/>ooc Notes: No worries, take your time, the story can develop at a pace that fits your lifestyle. I'm a very patient person. ;-) Enjoyed your previous post immensely btw. :) -Fae