The others had been lured away by the cracks on the earth, painting the land with soft, lilac light. It was fitting for such environment, but also not at the same time. Such colours matched the cold of Northrend, but at the same time served to delude, conceal. It was so easy, being there, to look at the crystalized trees and forget that the forest was in the heart of the darkest of all continents, the one the undead had claimed for their own. It was easy to forget that the forest's current state was an example of punishment, a lesson to be learnt for greed. Elves had fallen, their spirits said to still linger among the grey ruins.
Celysiel could not approach the exposed leyline beneath the great crystal tree, like the Oathbinder, the the newest Surveyor and the artificer and the former Blood Knight. It was too pure and it made her doubt. It made her forget why she had relinquished the purity of the arcane powers for something dark, tainted, uneasy. Yet the more distant she grew from the few of the Sanguine Eye to have taken this trip, the more she could feel clarity take a grip on her. She would not wander too far. She would return to them before they even knew it.
Rising into the darkness and under the faint light of the crystal trees, the ruins of another era were calling. The young elf did not stop to look behind her shoulder, nor gave forsaking the others a second though. Her boots were pressed on the occasional layer of thin snow as she progressed towards the withered buildings. Feeling ill and unwell did not stop her. She was running, but who would hear in the dead forest of the singing trees? Who could ever tell?
Until her velvet cloak finally stopped swaying with the winds, as her body came to a halt. The girl lowered her head, trying to conceal the coming cough, though she soon raised it, glowing eyes laid on the marvel in front of her.
It looked like a small temple, built of grey stone, rather than marble. Six pillars were once holding up the roof, which had now caved in. In the present time, only four pillars were standing. In spite of the ruins, the interior was rather spacious, though absolutely remained within. Only violet light. Everything else had turned into dust.
Standing still, Celysiel brought her hands together in front of her mouth, chapped lips out of the picture. How could something so beautiful be born out of death and destruction? The apprentice closed her eyes, as the voice within her head urged her to remember.
They had been devastated by the loss of the Well of Eternity... So they turned to the dragons and their insolence in trying spells beyond their powers resulted to...
Her eyes opened to see exactly what the catastrophic powers had resulted to. But perhaps it was better this way, than forever withering way. And yet, why would they wither away? How would they wither away? When the land below held so much promise, when the leylines were there to be claimed?
"Why did we turn to fel?" the Oathbinder had reminded her.
Why had they? Why did they? Why did she, when she clearly had a choice one year ago?
Something rang into the crystal trees, joining their song, standing above it. It was like laughter, but it could not be. The others were too far away. Too far...
Light shined against the beautiful trees, where power was locked within. It was reflected, such a beautiful sight, creating spirals into the atmosphere, until it would bring it to the weakened girl's facial features. Crystal, so much like glass, so much like...
... So many mirrors...
"No." Celysiel whispered, eyes opening widely suddenly. "No, go away."
But the laughter echoed again, forcing her to turn. The embrace of the lost Highborne city was there for her, comforting. Arcane residue was dancing with the wind, like it was being tangled in the robes of an invisible wanderer. And then, the girl remembered. There was a reason that they called the Crystalsong Forest cursed. Twisted and tormented, the spirits of the dead had never abandoned their ancestral land. Nor could they. They were trapped.
Whether the laughter was growing stronger, or had begun to subside, Celysiel could not tell. She reached out with her right hand, towards the sparkles swayed by the wind. Her fingers closed around the nothingness, wrist lowered, as if she was trying to pull the veil that was keeping her from seeing the phantoms of the past. Separating her from another reality. But nothing happened. It was only dance, clinging on the black glove, shining in the night.
Slowly, Celysiel brought her hand to her chest, while the left one pressed it against, embracing it dearly. Yes, now she could remember why fel. Because it had never been fel. It had been something else that she had desired to know, before the wonderful touch of the verdant power had intoxicated her, giving her a taste of true power. And that initial desire to have pushed her to that path was invisible all around her, it was hanging from neck, into her locket.
Her eyes wandered to the north for once more. If some wanted to tread in lands of unknown, beautiful forests, how far would her imagination take her? Behind the mountains, into the frozen wasteland, something stirred still, it was clear even in the wind. And that power was not a primordial evil that was awakening to claim the world with shadow. It was something as simple as unrest and sorrow. Something locked in saronite spires that the young elf had never seen, but very well knew to be there.
Turning around, Celysiel let herself sit onto the grey stone of the ruins, her back placed against a pillar. As she looked at the crystalized trees, while holding her hand close to her heart, close to her locket, she knew that there was something hiding behind the thousands of mirrors, nothing different than what she would one day see on her own. The laughter greeted her for once more, but in this tranquility the girl felt, there was a bitter sense of happiness. Fulfillment. And it was wonderful.
"No." came the silent whisper of a weak voice, as the cold was wearing out the apprentice. "Not here." She shook her head. "Not here."
And mysteriously, the other obeyed, the laughter dying with the wind. Only the song of the trees was there to keep her company. She would soon return to the others, that she knew, but for now, Celysiel wanted to gully revel in the beauty of the curse of the Crystalsong Forest.
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