Shar often joked about staying in bed until noontime or later, something that just isn't true. She was typically up in the early morning hours before the sun had graced the world with its warming rays. Unless of course she had been up until the early morning hours drinking and carousing. Those days she often simply did not sleep. The few hours she did claim since the loss of her amulet had been fraught with nightmares. Sleep was no longer an escape she could indulge in.

Mist was due to arrive by late morning with pancakes—and probably coffee—as well as to animate the flock of snow sheep she'd constructed outside. Ciar had seemed puzzled by her sudden announcement that she was going to build them. He had walked her home in the falling snow, keeping her warm and sheltered the whole way. While she piled the half-dozen snow sheep together he also stayed close by to offer his warmth when she needed it, and large beads of obsidian when she complained she had nothing to use for their eyes. She had not expected him to stay with her, but she had appreciated it silently. It had been an excuse to tired herself out more as the drowse she had felt at the inn had worn off by the time they'd reached her place.

The little basalt sheep he'd formed for her sat upstairs on her bedside table. She was in her practice room working her way through her sword forms as was her daily ritual. Cianan had asked her where she put all of the awful food she ate. The truth of that was the hours of rigorous practice she put in to prepare. Every day she told herself that she would leave the city soon. She wasn't a very good adventurer if she never went on adventures. Out there were evil dragons, and orcs, and bandits who needed slaying. They were all destined to meet the edge of her sword. If she ever left.

She let out a controlled breath as she stepped and transitioned into the next sword pose. The blade in her hands had dulled edged and was intentionally overly heavy. At nearly twice the weight of the weapon she typically used it took all of her strength to keep her movements smooth and precise. The muscles in her arms were taut and straining. One slip in her concentration and she could easily hurt herself.

The next series was quick, a rapid flurry of stabs and finally a wide powerful arc that had the blade moving so fast it whistled through the air. Even with the heavy weapon she was fast. Exact. Deadly. The sword had not always been her weapon of choice, but she found great peace in mastering the art.

Sweat trickled down the side of her face and her spine, her breathing heavy. Her heart pounded in her chest as she came to rest in the last pose, one hand firmly gripping the hilt and the other cupping the pommel with the blade held upright in front of her body. A tremor ran through her right arm and she had not choice but to let the blade fall from her grip. It hit the durable foam flooring with a dull thud and she curled her arm inward to her core until the ripple passed. She worked her hand open and closed a few times and winced at the tightness of her skin.

She sighed and bent down to retrieve the sword from the floor. Careless about marking up the floor, she dragged it tip down to the rack at the back where it joined the other practice weapons she kept. Staves, other blades, a pike. She swiped the towel she'd left on the bench to wipe her face, then headed up the stairs to her loft to take a shower.

Afterwards came the unpleasant part. She faced herself in the mirror after drying herself off to apply the awful, thick salve to her right arm that helped soothe the skin that simply was not hers. Smooth, unblemished skin seamlessly replaced what had once been a ruined mess of scars. The work was flawless. Not even Shar could really pick out where she ended and the new skin started without a deal of effort.

The being it had belonged to was not an elf, but he had looked like one. If ever even an elf could be of such otherworldly beauty. Shar had been awestruck with the Skincrafter when she first met him. She could understand why she had been warned to not even seek his services. It had been on an impulse when she finally sought him out. Nearly a year after her failed attempt to return to the vale, which she had spent wandering almost aimlessly. It was triggered by an innocent question over drinks with potential trading partners in a smokey tavern.

"So, how'd ya get those scars?"

It was hardly the first time Shar had heard that same query. She'd been hearing it all of her life. There was only one person she had actually told the story to since the night her brother had died. Niall knew all of her secrets. He knew everything about her. Had known.

"This will not be pleasant," the Skincrafter had told Shar in his harsh, whsipery voice. He reminded her of a snake from his sinuous movements and mannerisms, to the way he seemed to taste the air, to the way he spoke. She was certain he was of Faerie, but she did not know exactly what he was. Or his name. It was dangerous dealing with the fey so unprepared, but in the moment she had not cared.

"How will this work?" Shar had asked, dismissing the warning as easily as she shed her clothing. Being naked had never bothered her. It was a natural state of being. But the way his black, light-less eyes roamed over her form made her skin crawl. She fought the urge to cover up. Her discomfort seemed to please him. She rolled her shoulders back and looked away from the prowling albino being while she put up her hair into a tightly coiled bun. He was pale from head to toe save for those eyes. White hair, pure white skin. The 'room' they were in was white as well, but that was all an illusion. Where they were, within the mists between worlds, nothing was true and real.

"I will slice away your....flaws," he told her, his pale lip curling up in disgust. "And I will replace them with perfection." There was a table in the middle of the room. He indicated that she should lay on it as he had instructed her when she first arrived. Was brought there, really. After a moment's hesitation she complied. He did not hesitate to move in. "Your wounds go deep. Very deep. They will hurt greatly." His voice had dripped with pleasure.

Shar had not been prepared. He did not ask her if she was ready. There was more to her pain than the slice of his razor sharp claws parting her flesh. In retrospect, that had barely registered in her mind. She knew going into this what the payment would be. She knew that he fed off of emotion, misery, anger and fear in particular. 'Your worst memories,' he had told her. 'I will have them'. It had not seemed like such an awful thing at the time. She should not have assumed that he would take them from her.

Death. Pain. Destruction. The fire. Kellan. Roric. Serin. Caleb. Niall. She drowned in the blood in her memories. Those deaths she felt most keenly. Those whose names she never even knew. And more. Like her parents whom she didn't know were dead or alive, but only dreaded. Elehas, who she had dreamed of dying a thousand different ways. Adren who she'd never even loved, yet had managed to trample all over her heart, because she had once hoped she could. She relived their deaths over and over until her mind was as raw.

So was her body. Where scars had been were flayed clean. The memories still flooded her mind, but her eyes saw the bloody mess of her arm. She saw the Skincrafter's pale skin covered in red spray. She wasn't certain how she didn't scream in horror and pain. How she managed to stay conscious through the whole ordeal. It had fluttered. He may have laughed. She could have sworn her told her 'not yet', but she could not be sure.

The last thing she had been certain of was sensation returning to her arm. She could feel as his skin melded with hers to replace what was missing. Every inch of new flesh burned like she was on fire all over again as the nerves attached them to her new dermis. The feeling lasted even after he was done, only subsiding when she felt him rubbing something that smelled strongly of unfamiliar herbs all over her arm and the side of her once-ruined face. Even the ear that had been a twisted mess.

There wasn't a single scar left. Even the marks that she had acquired over her rough years as a mercenary were gone, though those she had not expected to be removed. None had required to be carved out of her skin. Their healing a 'side effect' of the potent healing spells keeping her alive during the removal. The only remnants of that night was the tightness she sometimes felt. Her body revolting against the foreign skin. It would go away after a few years, she'd been told. Maybe as long as ten. Until then she had the salve and potions to calm the reaction, even though the application would burn for a solid hour.

She hissed as she always did when the salve hit her skin, but it didn't stop her from continuing until every inch was covered. Mist would be there soon and she wanted the smell to have time to fade before he showed up. She would put her pajamas back on and climb back into bed and pretend the morning had never happened. She'd smile, she'd laugh, and she'd enjoy their time together. She would.

(This entry gets a bit naughty)

The music was so loud Shar could feel each beat pounding through her veins like it had replaced her heart beat. The DJ had artfully crafted a playlist to send the crowd into a roller coaster of exhilarating highs and lows, manipulating them to the edge of frenzy and holding them there entranced by light and sound.

She let herself ebb and flow with the sea of ever changing faces. She had lost track of time not long after she'd hit the dance floor and had willing allowed herself to be swept up pulse of life. It was every bit as intoxicating as the Faerie wine she had indulged in before setting out for the night. Every bit as addicting, too.

Hands belonging to unknown bodies touched at her, skimmed over the skin left bare by the scraps of clothing that made up her outfit. She was dressed for a night of sin in velvet and lace, a clinging bralet under a vest that hardly covered any extra it was so sheer, her skirt a hair under being too short, but the last few inches of its ruffled hem distressed and frayed. Her legs were at least covered to mid thigh by sueded leather boots that lace up the back of the leg.

Normally when she was out to dance she was actually there to dance. It was a way to bleed out the extra energy she had pent up without going to find some heads to bash in or going to do something stupid. This wasn't one of those nights.

It was one of those nights where she invited the wandering hands. Encouraged them. At least for a time. Without fail she spurned each would be partner after finding their fumbling advances unsatisfactory. No one got more than the hint of a tease from her. None could match her energy.

She could feel his loom behind her well before she felt him press into her back. He tried. He tried to move with her and he did a fair job of it. The heat that rolled off of him was ten times as intense as the swelter of the crowd. The drag of his fingers where they gripped at her thighs, her hip, one coming to rest on the flat of her belly, left trails of fire crawling across her skin. Unlike many in the club, this one wasn't human. Something else, was her fleeting thought. She could feel his hot breath on her sensitive ear as his lips came close.

"You smell divine," he'd told her. The noise of the music and the crowd made it necessary to shout, but there was the raw, rough edge of a bedroom whisper. Hers was hardly the first ear that voice had found that night.

As tempting as it was to let that fire consume her, to find out just how strong those hands gripping at her flesh were, it was electricity she was looking for and he had none of it.

It was a simple matter for her to twist away despite the clawing grasp that tried to keep her. She could not be captured. She could not be contained. She knew what she wanted and she wasn't going to find it here. If she ever found it again.

More tried to pull at her as she wove her way through the press of bodies. None could lure her back into the swaying fray this time. The song had shifted into another and had keyed into a higher frequency, but she wasn't having it. The magic of the night was wearing off. Or maybe the effects of the wine had worn off. Either way, her eyes were locked on the side door and nothing was stopping her from making it into the night air.

The night was a mild one, not too chilly, but the clouds overhead threatened rain. The temperature drop from the sweaty sauna inside made her bare skin pebble and a shiver course through her body. Or maybe that was the realization that she'd plunged herself into a meat market with the express intentions of finding someone to scratch a very specific itch. It wasn't the first time.

A count. A list of names. She didn't have any clue. She didn't want to keep track. She didn't want to get to know them. It was just easier to let herself get caught up in a carnal night and then disappear in the morning. Quite often feeling more unsatisfied than she had before the night began. It wasn't any of their faults. What she craved most was forever out of her reach. She had been foolish enough once to reach. All she'd gotten out of it was another craving she couldn't shake no matter how hard she tried.

The club didn't allow in outside alcohol, but Shar hadn't had any trouble smuggling in the small flask. After all it was a tiny glass thing that made it past the metal detectors and was tucked into one of the under layers of her skirt where the bouncer's fingers hadn't dared skim. She wasn't three steps into the cool alley before she was tugging up the already short hem to find the hidden pocket. What were a few more inches?

She pulled the cork stopper free with her teeth and spit is aside, then brought the phial to her lips to drain it. There wasn't more than a mouthful of the potent liquor, but it was more than enough to restart the heady buzz she'd worked up in her pregame. There was a shatter of glass when the bottle followed the cork's errant arc away.

"That must be some good stuff."

Bad. It had been bad of her to not notice the tall form leaning against the wall a few more steps farther than she had made it into the night. The first thing she should have done when she exited was to check if anyone was around, but it had been so silent. Now she noticed the haze of smoke from his cigarette, and a scuff of his shoe against the pavement as he shifted under the weight of her startled stare.

He smiled at her. His brown eyes were merely warm. He lacked the desperate intensity she'd discovered inside. He was even surprised when she'd stalked his way with nothing but bad intentions. There hadn't been anything about him that stood out as a reason, except that he was in the right place at the moment she'd needed someone to be there.

She hated the taste of cigarettes on his lips, so she was grateful for the tangle of fingers in her hair that dragged her head aside so his mouth could assault her neck instead of hers. Even more so that once he'd taken his place between her thighs he kept focused on just the right legato rhythm right through the crescendo and into the coda despite the cold rained that had them soaking by the time they'd sung the last note.

He'd begged for an encore, but she drew away without giving him so much as a name. She hadn't bothered to get his.

After all, he was no different from the rest.