Unfinished Posts

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Wraith steps back from the light with a start, nearly tripping on the hem of her skirt, and catches herself on the wall before she can slip and twist her ankle. "Oh, Hilathic, you startled me." She raises her hand to her chest. Her heart was still racing. "I didn't expect you to be waiting for me." She says, turning away from the light to hide her face.

Changes were taking place within her; changes that may very well have been taking place long before Aerin came back into her life. Changes that she didn't feel comfortable with.

"John might be a bitter and ruthless man, but he's efficient, competent and strong. I respect that." Wraith replies at length. "I've bough his trust with an offer he can't refuse."

Watching Hilathic bounce about the cramped space, in higher spirits than when she last saw him, Wraith can't help but smile. "You know, this isn't really necessary, Hilathic." She sighs, and frowns.

Clearly his despondent situation hadn't dampened his spirits. He was actually smiling, rambling on as he cleared away the debris. Something about him was changing, too.

Change: It was bound to happen, sooner or later. Very few things remained in a fixed state for long. Even the Modrons were subject to a startling transformation of function and form. So why did her own change startle her so much?

Wraith shook her head and sighed.

Perhaps it was a side-effect of their mutable Tanar'ri blood? Who knew? But when she looked at her face in the mirror that morning, she was alarmed by the haunting beauty staring back at her.

True, she'd been in a constant state of flux since Aerin had come back into her life. True, these gradual alterations began taking place a few days ago, maybe long before then. Who knew for certain? But when she saw her reflection, she saw an aspect she'd tried for years to suppress.

Now it shone through her pale skin, and her sad eyes; undimmed by her thin stature and her scarring. In fact her frailty and her vulnerability made her seem all the more beautiful. Wan features and hollow cheeks came into sharper focus, her lips darkened and her eyes brightened.

By all accounts before she was a faded cameo, an autumnal rose deprived of it's colour; now at last she was in full bloom.

Fingering her labret stud, Wraith wishes that she hadn't been so careless that morning in neglecting her veil. It hid those things about herself she had trouble accepting. Now she had nothing to hide behind.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

TBA

The window beyond the screen hung open a fraction, allowing a cold breeze to rustle the heavy drapes. The lamp on the nightstand danced fitfully, hurling shadows across the wall and floor.

Wraith had no idea how long she huddled in the bathtub for. But as the water was turning cold, and her fingers and toes were wrinkled, it must've been a while. Her eyes focus on the wall before her, and she returns to her senses.

Climbing out of the bathtub, Wraith thoroughly towels herself dry and crouches before the hearth to warm her cold skin. She examines her hands, her arms, her fingers, her whole body even, as though seeing it for the first time... but not as the beauteous vision she'd seen over the past two weeks.

Stifling an anguished sob, she lets her hands slide from the apex of her thighs, to belly and breasts, briefly cupping her soft flesh to feel the unfettered weight, and caresses the scars. Taking a deep breath, she continues her careful exploration. Sensitive fingertips sweep over her clavicle to her shoulders, following the graceful lines of her neck to her face.

This was the hard part.

Wraith steadies herself with another breath, bordering on a pained sob. But it had to be done. She had to learn to accept who and what she was, this time in a different light.

Closing her eyes she takes her time to feel - truly feel - what her eyes often ignored. Full lips, sharp teeth, pointed chin, high sweeping cheekbones, long slender nose, tapered ears. She traces each detail into her mind, moving higher, to her eyes, her long blue lashes, the arch of each eyebrow. Her fingers sketch with deliberate slowness the skin as it merges with scales, then the hard bony protrusions.

Her horns...

[Uathach Blackmantle]

"If you're the one who represents the man I know as Marrak, Fidrath even, then yes, I would have words with you." Wraith says tersely, sitting down in the vacant seat beside Hilathic. Clasping her hands on the table before her, the tiefling forces herself into a state of calm, though inside she was seething. The twitching of her lips and fingers, and the deadly cast to her eyes were the only outward sign of this.

"So tell me this, though I would much rather speak to the man himself