***The following takes place the morning after this great summary by Katt Batten.***
It was quiet. Outside the birds were chirping and the far off rhythm of the surf pounding the shore was sounding the morning tide. But inside her private bed chamber, it was quiet.
Isuelt's dark lashes parted slowly, her dark espresso eyes were not yet ready to focus. Her cheek was pressed to the clean white linen casing of her pillow and her blanket was carelessly draped over her naked body. The Scathachian lay there for quite some time before she blinked and pushed up off of her mattress. Sitting up, the blanket fell from her skin and she stretched lightly in the familiar way she did every morning upon waking. Isuelt pushed back her coverings and swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward to get to her feet. The Scathachian warrior found it odd only halfway across her room that all of her usual aches and pains that she experienced every morning were...well, weren't.
She stopped in the middle of her floor, halfway from her bed and the washbasin, and turned her head to look upon her reflection in the dressing mirror in the corner of the chamber. What she saw before her, was much the same as always, except....
As Isuelt moved closer to the image of herself, she noted not a single scar on her battle-worn body. Not the battle scars from swords, axes or spikes. Not the crooked fingers from being broken numerous times. Not the heavy gash across her midsection from the time she was crushed beneath a collapsing building. And as she looked down to her wrists...gone were the self-inflicted scars of her multiple suicide attempts.
As she stared at the lack of damage her body had taken over her forty years of life, she was disbelieving and utterly dumbfounded. Until...
Her dark gaze lifted to look herself in the eye in the mirror. It was as if she were recalling a nightmare she had just had. There was a flash of crimson then as she looked upon herself. Her heart dropped and her nostrils flared.
Not a dream. It was a waking nightmare.
Renna...Rosa...This One...whatever that entity or incarnation was, it was here, within her. And it was all true. What Batten had said, he was right. And truth be told, she hated when he was right. Katt, Ebon, Icer, Andu, they had all said it. She was infected. Infected with something that Renna had cooked up. And it was inside of her body, coursing through her veins.
But what was worse: it all started coming back to her. Last night. The Marketplace. Jewell. Katt.
"Oh sweet Mother Scathach..." She whispered in the morning light of her room. She had attacked Jewell. She had tried to kill Katt. She had...
Isuelt blinked and looked back to her face in the mirror. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Perhaps she was simply reliving her nightmare. But she could have sworn that where she should have seen her own face, she saw Renna's. Only for an instant, but it was enough to nearly stop her heart. She gasped as everything came flooding back to her. Isuelt winced and crumbled, falling to her knees in front of the mirror. Her naked body in a pitiful form on the floor, her head in her hands. She wept. She wept for a long, long time.
It was quiet. Outside the birds were chirping and the far off rhythm of the surf pounding the shore was sounding the morning tide. But inside her private bed chamber, it was quiet.
Isuelt's dark lashes parted slowly, her dark espresso eyes were not yet ready to focus. Her cheek was pressed to the clean white linen casing of her pillow and her blanket was carelessly draped over her naked body. The Scathachian lay there for quite some time before she blinked and pushed up off of her mattress. Sitting up, the blanket fell from her skin and she stretched lightly in the familiar way she did every morning upon waking. Isuelt pushed back her coverings and swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward to get to her feet. The Scathachian warrior found it odd only halfway across her room that all of her usual aches and pains that she experienced every morning were...well, weren't.
She stopped in the middle of her floor, halfway from her bed and the washbasin, and turned her head to look upon her reflection in the dressing mirror in the corner of the chamber. What she saw before her, was much the same as always, except....
As Isuelt moved closer to the image of herself, she noted not a single scar on her battle-worn body. Not the battle scars from swords, axes or spikes. Not the crooked fingers from being broken numerous times. Not the heavy gash across her midsection from the time she was crushed beneath a collapsing building. And as she looked down to her wrists...gone were the self-inflicted scars of her multiple suicide attempts.
As she stared at the lack of damage her body had taken over her forty years of life, she was disbelieving and utterly dumbfounded. Until...
Her dark gaze lifted to look herself in the eye in the mirror. It was as if she were recalling a nightmare she had just had. There was a flash of crimson then as she looked upon herself. Her heart dropped and her nostrils flared.
Not a dream. It was a waking nightmare.
Renna...Rosa...This One...whatever that entity or incarnation was, it was here, within her. And it was all true. What Batten had said, he was right. And truth be told, she hated when he was right. Katt, Ebon, Icer, Andu, they had all said it. She was infected. Infected with something that Renna had cooked up. And it was inside of her body, coursing through her veins.
But what was worse: it all started coming back to her. Last night. The Marketplace. Jewell. Katt.
"Oh sweet Mother Scathach..." She whispered in the morning light of her room. She had attacked Jewell. She had tried to kill Katt. She had...
Isuelt blinked and looked back to her face in the mirror. Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Perhaps she was simply reliving her nightmare. But she could have sworn that where she should have seen her own face, she saw Renna's. Only for an instant, but it was enough to nearly stop her heart. She gasped as everything came flooding back to her. Isuelt winced and crumbled, falling to her knees in front of the mirror. Her naked body in a pitiful form on the floor, her head in her hands. She wept. She wept for a long, long time.