A Madman's Gift

Just a while ago, the form of the crazed cultist had faded, leaving her with the promise of her wish to be granted. And she was alone again into the forest, far from the circle of glowing fungi, abandoned with the fear of the Silent Guardians, whose eyes she could always feel on her back ever since they had planted the seed of anguish in her mind, or worse; for the girl knew very well that even if the woman would eventurally return from the dead, she did not wish to be the one to find the corpse of Oathsworn Dawnshade in the woods.

Yet just from behind, a sound alerted her. It was not unkind, but soft. A continuous hitting, the impact of two things undefined. Like a long scroll unfolded in the wind, caused to form ripples and grind against its waves. Like sails taken into a storm. Like flapping wings, gentle, as if their host was wandering towards her way.

The apprentice turned. She was standing at no clearing, but admist trees, as the promise of silver fog was dancing before her feet. Dark trees were shining as drops of dew were clinging onto their leaves, shaken by an undefined breeze that only served to add to the peculiar beauty of the scenery. Sweet was the tune that was composed by the sounds of the forest, a tender lullaby to sway the young elf, a fitting tune to introduce her heart's greatest desire.

She saw it as something little, a dot of purple essemce shyly flying behind the trees, leaving a barely distinguishable trail behind. And then it came forth, its figure now seen with greater clarity. It was nothing more than a tiny sparrow, bound of dark flesh and shadow magic. And though she had never seen it in such form, Celysiel knew that Timothy Dowling had fulfilled her wish. He had given her the image of that one thing that she loved the most.

The sparrow began to lower its form with a methodical motion of its small wings, approaching its supposed mistress. And she responded eagerly by cupping her gloved hands and raising them, welcoming the little creature to land there. Land, of course, it did not. It kept preserving itself in flight just above her palms, as two eyes kept looking at her. Two eyes. Not several, like Eraevin's Zaeros, whose gaze she could never escape. It was the perfect image of a bird, since the Surveyor had told her that it would be nothing more than what she would need it to be. And at that moment, she needed no eyes spreading all across the forest, nor bulges that would identify every single sound. She merely needed that part of her that was married into the Void. And it was an aviant, for it was these creatures that could fly free, unbound, and gaze at the world below as if they were their masters.

The little bird was almost sweet, even if in a macabre way, for it would still remain terrifying for most. Would Noraiel ever set eyes on it, for example, the real one, he could not accept it, just like he could not accept the idea of it. But it still remained something petite and frail as it fit in her palms, looking up at her with two button eyes. The sickly girl smiled down at it, a smile of sweetness that she only reserved for her shadow apparition, even if that was just a false image of it and she knew.

"You came to find me." she whispered to the creature. "But now that you have, there is no reason to hide from the rest. You are no tiny sparrow, are you?" Her voice was kind, yet conniving, as if she spoke of a secret only the two of them knew.

The bird remained silent, but such response was enough for Celysiel. Forcing her body into motion, she turned first her waist around, then her feet, as her dark skirts and cloak dance around her form. Fleeing from its nest, urged, the sparrow made for the skies for once more, but there it disappeared, dispersing into a cloud of dark energy. From the cloud came forth a new figure, as if it was sucking the nebulous essence. Wings spread for once more, this time larger, as long as an elf's arm, supporting a stronger frame than that of the previous creature. Nefarious energies were oozing all across the body, bound by tethers of black flesh. And a pair of narrow, proud eyes sat at the head.

Awe and glee were written all across Celysiel's face as she watched the eagle fly in a circle above her, spreading its glorious wings on the skies of the shadowrealm of illusion that it owned. There were so many that she could have asked in the place of that creature. Her parents, even if to be held by them one last time in that false world. Surveyor Blackwood, her guide, whose release mattered more than anything else. A perfect picture of Thaelen, with whom she could dance into the darkness like it had been promised. Or even a perfect picture of Noraiel, understanding her. Forgiving her. Or perhaps... Perhaps her flowers. Tender white blooms... No, slithering black vines, the inner garden that she had lost.

But that would be lying to herself, would it not? To deny that she loved anything more than what her locket held within, what she had formed with the power of the Heart. All came second to that. Nothing else was as important.

She did not raise her arm as the eagle began to descend before her, so perfect than what she would normally have it be. And that did not bother her. It was exactly what the apprentice needed.

"You are not real." she whispered to the image of the being as it approached her, this king of shadow skies. She extended her hand just a little, as if she aimed to caress her dearest friend, but the touch never came to be. "But one day, the real you and I shall reunite." It was a promise, held in her eyes, shed in her tear. How much she desired to touch it, to feel it. But then, Celysiel pulled away, knowing that her truest of all desires was to wait and feel the real apparition's claws close around her weak arm. A mirrage. It was all she would have to settle for at that moment.

"And they will not be able to take you from me again. We will grow strong. We will always be. Together."

She let the eagle take flight again, holding that promise in her heart, her key to endurance. And so, girl and bird began to wander into the silver fog of the forest, nothing more than a part of Celysiel's imagination. Figures consumed by the darkness. One with the shadows.