This story is especially dedicated to Minyelaire, Edstan and Erinwyn. Thank you so much for the love and support guys, you'll always have a special place in my heart. <3
Thud.
The sound of Edstan, Laenir, and Twion's voices sounding up in united shock... dry, yellowed and hollow grass caressing her Elven leather armour... the sensation of falling....
Then, darkness.
That was all Daerundros could remember.
Opening her eyes, Daerundros realized that she was standing in utter and horrible darkness - closing or opening her eyes made no difference in the fact that she appeared to be floating in the middle of black. She was blinded, silenced, and deafened as the space around her grew increasingly constricting, weaving threads of uncertainty around her as she fought for her place in this strange new world, the tingling in her stomach never leaving her as she writhed and flayed about trying to make sense of where she was.
Her hand caressed something.
In a nearly wildly desperate attempt did she try to strike the unfamiliar object again, fear growing into panic, panic into anger, as she floated around in this pure subconscious of herself, the silence seemingly buzzing disturbingly in her ears. She tried to speak, but found she could not; She was in a silent realm, hidden away from the light of wake, consciousness. She was far too trapped deep within her mind. She was mentally bound and gagged, robbed of all voice and actions.
She felt like a statue about to break into bits from this disturbing silence.
"Sit." Something commanded her. The voice that flared was hysterically seductive, it's words pure acid and it's tone the most toxic poison, it's sentences constructed carefully into an intricate pattern that hinted at the game of cat and mouse that it wanted to play. Lights were flashing before Daerundros' eyes, but before she could react, or do something, or even respond or say anything, she was seated.
The arms of this chair were cold, as expected of iron, and they were twisted into a hideous shape. A man suffering a thousand cruel fates, it's face contorted into the most vile and anguished expression that Daerundros could imagine. She became aware she was sitting on soft velvet cushions, her spine straight in perfection, parallel to the back of the chair.
It was a throne, Daerundros noted dully. Her was bowed low, not in shame, but rather, a cruel malice that seemed to radiate from herself, though, the source of it, she was sure, did not come from Daerundros herself. She felt terribly majestic in her elegant poise, her hair woven into a charming knot on the top of her head. She reached out with her senses.
Daerundros appeared to be clothed in elegant black silks, a blood red trim barely visible underneath her majestic garments. Bangles of the twisted kind were roped around her wrist; A long armbrace in the shape of a snake slithered around her upper arm. The sleeves of her dress hung of her shoulders, exposing bare, delicate porcelain skin, snowy white and gleaming under an eerie red light.
It was the light that had captured Daerundros' attention. She stared up onto the source of it and discovered that the glow appeared to radiate from a torch that was twisted and molded into the shape of a long, clawed hand. Flames flickered within it darkly, the shadow of the light dancing darkly on the already murky stone walls.
"My queen." A voice sounded from behind her. Daerundros raised herself from her throne. The words that emitted from her mouth surprised and frightened her.
"Ñwalmendur." She crooned in a seductive voice, her usual melodic voice which she used to speak with, overriden by an chorus of dark and terrible beauty. The cloaked figure before her stood up from his kneeling position, his head low still in respect. Daerundros circled him, looking like she was about to pounce and consume him in raging fires.
"My queen," He repeated, looking at her with a dazed expression, before rapidly shaking his head and swerving into the direction of a large mirror, "My queen, The Kinn-lai have been driven to extinction. However, the Haradhrim and the Gondorians remain. They have forged an alliance and are threatening to assault the gates of Mornando."
Daerundros nodded sharply, smirking. Mornando was the name she had given this barren realm, it lay sprawling beautiful yet terrible and dead before her tower, threatening the morale of many. In the far off distance she could see white horns and exquisite banners flying, and faintly hear the cries of rallies and shouting. The noise reveberated through the tower as silent whispers.
Now she was aware that she had been cloaked, not as she first thought at all. She frowned slightly, observing her hands. She glared at the palms. They were pearl white, smooth, and strong. Red were her nails painted, ending in sharp, long claws. She briefly caressed her cheek with her claw, pressing it into flesh and feeling the cut of her nails bite into the skin, releasing a small amount of blood.
Yet the sooner she had created the cut had it healed. She gazed upwards, for the first time noticing her reflection in a mirror since she had come to this strange place.
Who was that?
The thought struck Daerundros dumb as she surveyed with deathly pitch black eyes her own mirror image. She was hooded and her skin appeared, now that she had clearly seen her face, transculent; fading. Her lips were blood red and unlovely, though her face was a terrible beauty to behold, dread and seduction woven together into one.
((under construction))
