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Amerana stared at her hands for the first time in what felt like years. She turned them over of her own free will as she sat under a tree, and she tried to remember how to work her own body. What had it been like, to have your body entirely under your own control? Had it been like this? Somehow, she doubted it. A living person’s body wouldn’t feel quite so far away.

She hadn’t been free for long, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she relished this new freedom or hated it. She hadn’t had to deal with the memories before. She’d only known a voice in her head that controlled her actions, had only known pain and death, destruction and malice.

Now she knew love, and she wished she didn’t.

How much it hurt, to see the other woman’s face in her mind’s eye again, the lovely draenei who had towered over her. She hadn’t thought herself capable of feeling pain any longer, and yet a simple image proved her wrong. She brought her knees to her chest.

The memories rushed through her head, all crashing back at once. How they met, how they hated each other when they first met. The grudging respect that came with their first battle together. The eventual friendship. Then, later, the drunken kisses. The sex. The love, though she never would’ve admitted that in life.

She relived every moment they had spent together. She watched her own legs be crushed by a burning ceiling again, watched Valesii scold and kiss her when she finally woke. She watched herself fall into depression, staying in Stormwind and repairing armour while the one she loved continued to roam the world, only coming back every few months. She watched her fellow guards take pity on her and bring her their armour, even though she certainly wasn’t the best blacksmith in the city. She watched Valesii retire just so they could be together.

It hurt so much to watch, knowing what had happened to them. They barely had time to get used to each other again before the attack on Northrend was announced. She’d begged to go. She’d promised Valesii she’d only heal. She couldn’t fight, anyway. Not with her legs barely able to hold her. She wouldn’t be in any danger.

And then she’d died.

Amerana groaned, tugging on her hair. How cruel of Arthas to bring her back, to give her the use of her legs again, when this was what it meant. Valesii would never accept her like this. The other woman worshiped the Light more than air itself; how could she ever love a monster like Amerana? She tried to cry, but her body wouldn’t even give her that small satisfaction.

She had to tell them she couldn’t go to Stormwind. What if Valesii still owned her old shop? Even worse, what if she didn’t? What if she’d moved on? What if she had a lover? A family? How long had it been? Would she even remember her fragile human lover? Did she still even care?

Amerana buried the emotions as deeply as she could, choking back a sob. No. A death knight did not cry. A death knight did not feel. She had no emotions, not any longer. She didn’t need them. She would do the job demanded of her and nothing more.

Two weeks later saw her at the door to the old shop, where Valesii still eked out a living.

the things we lost

Leran'thiel shrieked and threw her hands over her head as the walls around her shook. She had buried herself in the cellar when she heard the bells, when she heard the screaming in the streets. There had been other sounds, significantly crunchier than the screams, as well, though she did her best to push those out of her mind. People had been screaming the word "scourge" over and over outside; she knew what those sounds had been. Even the thought of it made her feel ill.



It had been too easy to bar the door to the shop, to ignore the people crying and begging her for help. She'd cried as she'd done it, but she'd done it all the same. She'd raced down the stairs, locked herself into the cellar, and tried to erase their screams for her help.

That had been hours ago. Now, she still cried, but more out of fear than anything else. She couldn't stop thinking. The first bells had come from near her sister's home, where her parents had gone for the day. Her nephew had only just been born, and her parents had wanted to congratulate her sister.

Another sob wracked her body, and she pushed the thoughts from her mind. They were fine. They had to be fine. What was the point of hiding from the undead like this if they weren't still alive?

She tugged her pale hair hard as she shook, curling in on herself more until her face was buried between her knees. She couldn't control her racing thoughts, couldn't make the fears stop.

What if they're dead? What if everyone is dead? There haven't been any screams in a while. How much longer do you really think the door will hold? The undead are sure to come here. You should've gone somewhere else. A butcher shop is the first place the scourge will want to come. You stupid, stupid girl.

The walls shook again, and something inside her was torn away. A light, something she'd known since she was small, had suddenly disappeared. This time her scream was desperate and pained, and she couldn't help letting the guttural sound escape from her mouth. Everything truly was lost. She didn't know what had happened, but she knew that everything had to be lost if that light and warmth inside her had disappeared.

Time passed, though she didn't know exactly how much. Her stomach began to growl, but whenever she looked at the meat that surrounded her she could only think of what must've happened to her neighbors and friends outside. Of those crunching sounds she could hear even locked away, above the screams, inside her mind. It made her ill repeatedly, though she did her best to be sick in a corner away from where she was hiding herself. Her hair was lank and greasy, and her eyes red and puffy.

When the door to the cellar finally opened, she shrieked at the brightness of the light. She pushed herself against the wall, hiding so she wouldn't have to see the undead who would likely make a meal of her.

Instead, she was greeted with warmth that soothed her stomach and mind, that forced her muscles to finally relax.

"Farenth. This one's alive." The voice was soft, musical, and made Leran'thiel's ears ring. She whimpered, curling in on herself more and wishing the voice would be quieter.

Gentle hands picked her up, cradling her against a chest covered in plate armour. The plate was cold, but she didn't have the strength to try and push away from it.

"I'll take her back to the reclaimed areas. You take what you can from here, then send more to collect the rest." This voice was male, but just as soft and loud as the other.

"Yes, sir."

"The poor thing's probably been here since the walls fell..." The warmth returned, filling her mind with a gentle light. Leran'thiel felt her eyes close, though she desperately tried to see the face of the man who was holding her. She glimpsed a red beard, neatly trimmed, and then sleep finally claimed her.