With a quick flicking of her wrist, her claws ripped her trachea clean open, a thick, green, balmy fluid burst from the wound. She still gasped for her final breaths, her legs collapsing beneath her from the crippling pain. She could see her own corrupted blood covering her right hand completely, and staining her skin and clothing. Her eye-lids began to flutter, her senses numbing, it was bliss.
Even as the grip of death coiled around her,
she thanked it. Welcomed it. Praised it.
No longer would she be able to cause others pain.
No longer would she be able to receive pain from others.
No longer would pain exist.
No longer...
Would
she exist.
She returned to a familiar landscape.
Or perhaps...a lack there of.
The Void...
You haven't changed at all.
She noticed only a boy standing there.
And a colt, and a father.
They were happy together.
The Menethils, finally reunited in death.
But who stood by her side?
Sylvanas, the Dark Lady?
Sylvanas...
Windrunner.
She was surrounded by her family as well.
Mother...
Father...
...Alleria?
Alleria Windrunner stood there as well.
The one she came looking for.
A champion of the Alliance.
A symbol of elven bravery.
Her sister.
But what was Sylvanas?
A slave of the Horde.
A symbol of fear, and of contempt.
She was not known as a Windrunner anymore.
She was known only as a corpse.
Death...
Death is meant to be the end...
Yes?
Then why do I still feel...
Why do I still long?
For redemption...
For love...
For...
Peace?
No.
Death is not the end.
Nothing is ever the end.
Just as the Sun always returns...
And the leaves always fall.
So does the Moon return...
And the trees be reborn.
So must I never pass on...
And live forever on in anguish.
In fear.
In despair.
This is my cross to bear.