The metallic sound of a key insterting the cavity on the door, soon led to turn. That clatter of iron was not of swords, but something as simple as returning home. To most a great relief after a tiring day, to be within known walls, in an area designed by the owner's hand and adjusted to offer comfort. For such was the beauty of home, such was its most appealing characteristic: to be a sanctuary, an area protected from the rest of the world. Somewhere to hide and somewhere to rest.
A soft click followed as the key's purpose was fulfilled. It was slowly pulled out to find a warm prison for itself in the black cage of the apprentice's gloved hand as she rolled it in her fingers. The door opened soon after, letting a trail of silver light be formed in the dark main chamber of the small house. There was nothing that could stop the ray cast by the largest of Azeroth's two moons, the one currently hanging above Silvermoon, the glorious city that could never sink in shadow. Climbing on the furniture and minding no carpet, that path of light made its way to the wall at the other side, cast on the wall near the hallway that led to the bedrooms. In the middle of it stood the shadow of the shrouded hood of the girl, growing larger as she stepped into the room. Until the door behind her closed for once more, sending the radiance of the lunar sphere away. Causing the chamber to sink into darkness for once more.
The very moment that the door closed behind her, Celysiel felt regret for her decision not to deny the privacy of her home a second night, for listening to that voice that yearned for security and the prison within which she could remember so many years of her younger life. The other of course urged her to run and hide. It questioned why the young elf had not stayed at the confines of the protruding ancient roots until the first morning light, to then see to enchanter Helediron's garden. Not to be seen, regardless of consequences, for to explain was as difficult as to beckon clarity. Yet the vastness of the world scared her. Intimidating exposure left her thinking that clawed hands will reach from the shadows to hook into her skin, in order to carry her to their umbral world. No, it mattered not that home had been denied and scorned lately. In the end, it would always be where she would return.
The wind was gentle as it led the drapes to their enticing dance, as if they were troupers performing in Midsummer. Yet the cold they brought inside tempted Celysiel, even if not longer than just a moment, to reach out and close them. No ravens would visit her that night, thus no welcome intruders would be denied. If she ever aimed to make her way towards them, it never happened, for her fatigued form would not allow a single more step taken. For two days, she had only been walking in areas that could not be called her own. Now tha she was within the limits of her own house, to move was no longer required.
It was the key that fell first, slipping from digits that no longer cared to hold it, or even carry it to the table where was its rightful place. Then followed the apprentice's body, her back sliding against the polished wood of the door until she was seated on the floor. It seemed proper to stay there. Shorter and hidden from anyone that would look inside from the window. It was but a lie of course, a false impression that served to soothe that troubled soul at its hour of need. It was convincing enough to make her stay there, without the intention of ever moving.
Emptiness was all she could feel. Something hollow at her stomach, which at the same time was equally painful. As if she had been kicked there several times, in order for the sensation to be imprinted. The pain was slowly but surely rising towards her chest, like an infection, making it harder to breathe. Her shoulders, as if she was carrying a great burden on them, though nothing rested on them.
Suddenly, everything felt like it weighed far more than it was meant to. Her fingers worked their way to the straps on her belt which held the weather journal in place. It was precious to her, one of her most beloved possessions and that especially after the loss of her locket, but it was now allowed to slip on the floor. Several parchments that were originally tucked inside the pages fell to the side, but there was no care to pick them up. Why instill order? The desire to also remove her cloak was great, but in the attempt to do so, Celysiel felt the need to allow it to remain. It increased the sense of support, though why support was needed in the first place was something that eluded her. Perhaps because it could not be offered to another.
Sorrow was a cloud hanging above the white-haired elf, a shadow taking the light from her eyes, leaving her hollow. It was not sorrow for herself, nor the locket that had been deprived. Such bitter taste was often left into her mouth, but never so great, nor could she ever imagine that it would overwhelm her, to the point that clarity would be shaken. Was it only great grief which she felt, or also indignation, on behalf of those who could never have a choice, for how unfair the world could be; insolence and guilt, for the choices she had so selfishly made and supported were a burden and a curse for others? Clarity could not come to soothe her. She was left to be small, frail and with a part of her wondering if she belonged among the weak-minded that she so heavily scorned.
The stinging burn of her eyes was the introduction of the warm, salty streams that littered her ill cheeks, though the fine shapes of the tears were soon destroyed by two palms which came to cover her face. Violent sobs shook her body as she cried, the sounds escaping her lips far from muffled, though for that she had no care. Consequences be damned, whoever could notice be damned, it was her right.
Celysiel wept and she did so heavily, as if hope had faded from the world, as if happiness had been drained, leaving but agony behind. No thought her mind would form could soothe her, since only one would emerge time and time again, not letting the poor girl rest. It was in front of the door and with her tears that she intended to remain, even if it would be for hours, or even until her body possibly gave into exhaustion and carried her to sleep on the floor. Why rise? It was there she had to be, there she had to stay. She had to.
She mourned for someone dead.
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