"Hush now, little plaything." the former Magistrix uttered as she pushed the tray of baked goods towards the girl. "We need you focused, do we not?"
But the apprentice merely shook her head, not daring to look up. "I told you, I cannot remember. I merely want to go back to-"
"You can never go back there, my sweet. We have been through this. Now, you must try to remember. Did you see the Dark Titan?"
Never go back there. She did remember, as the dark day had finally come. The day that she had made her decision and had packed her few belongings to abandon the man she called her mentor, the one so dear in her heart, far more than one would view their guide. And the pain was awful. It was present, a lingering presence, a shadow. A burden.
What had hurt the most in it, nearly making the pain physical, was getting rid of the vines. If there were any tears that could be shed for the mourning of the indoor garden's loss, they could have already drenched the elf's face, but it remained at all times dry. The suffering contained as she let the morning night invade the chamber, making the stretching branches creak. As all things good and pretty were spreading into the room to be rid of the darkness, the strike ached. But that was nothing compared to what had to follow.
The residents of Theradrim's estate were blissfully unaware of the overgrowth that had taken over the lavish chamber, hence it had to disappear, without the room itself receiving any scars of harm. Fire, but not fel. The pyres of the fireplace burnt restlessly, cleaning every bit of the dry wood that was thrown inside, gerring rid of the corruption and only leaving ash behind. Each time that the knife cut into the vines, it felt as if a scar was left in the girl's heart. Each times the flames devoured the wood, she wanted to release the steam of tears held back for such a horrific crime.
In the end, only the small pot twisted in front of the eyes of Surveyor Bloodthorn, artificer Ashvale and Seer Evermorn had survived the pyres, as it was too small, not afflicting the room. It had left Theradrim Bloodthorn's estate with her and a piece of the outter garden. Isolated in another pot, a young frost lotus bloom was accompanying Celysiel to the exit. It was a gift for her, after all. She had every right to take it with her.
But in Silvermoon, in the house of her parents, none of the two gardens dear to the girl could ever grow. Stripped of the dark vines and away from the chosen of her heart, there was nothing left anymore. Emptiness alone.
He did not know that she had left. She had not told him. Perhaps it was better this way.
Under these circumstances, it was perhaps better that the memory of the Dark Titan was nowhere to be found among others. The only thing to testify his appearance once upon a time were the words of Oathbinder Dawncaster, that wonderful soul, as she was tending to her wrist, and the sword that had an area most foul in the land of the planet.
The prospect of not remembering, though, did not seem to please Lady Everflare, who had rushed to care for the apprentice as soon as she realised that her heart had been torn. Things had become clear to her by the former Magistrix. She could not return to Theradrim, as the tale between them was not meant to be. Nor was it proper for her to waste herself on such emotion, let anything get in the way of greatness. There were more pressing matters.
And for that reason, she had to remember Sargeras.
Celysiel raised her eyes to look at Ameryss, with that smile constantly plastered on the painted lips of the former Magistrix. Her aroma was always of roses, a flower that the young elf liked less than any other, a flower that she had chosen to kill. But there was also something motherly in the redheaded woman, though at the same time, something that scared her.
This time, Celysiel did not insist on repeating that she could not remember. She only rose and left the room. It did not surprise her that Ameryss made no attempt to follow.
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