Happiness is Mandatory, Dear

''There is another chunk of this story that I've chosen to omit due to the graphically violent nature of it and overall theme of torture. I feel the last half does fine to stand alone, but if, for whatever reason, the beginning seems sudden, that would be why. ''

Laying on the cold, dirty stone floor of the lab for what felt like nearly a day, Bereave had to remind herself that it likely had not been nearly so long since Lilithia had left her there, the darkness and pain dragging out each minute. At first, she had been oblivious to everything except her own cries of pain and the quiet footfalls of the Lady departing echoing in her head, but as she began to regain control and awareness, other things began to catch her attention. Her dress, once a lovely blue, was now tattered and brown with blood and dirt. The wet cloth stuck to her, leaving her feeling even colder than she was. The wood of the stocks she held herself up against pushed splinters into the flesh of her hands and chest. Cold and blood spattered, the stone tiles of the floor did nothing to help her aching muscles. An oil lamp hung across the room from her, above a sort of operating table, illuminating portions of the space. She looked around herself, realizing she had stopped screaming despite the horrendous pain radiating from the mutilated tissue of her back.

More than one pair of eyes reflected the lamp light in the darkness. So used to the test subjects that Lilithia kept, Bereave had all but forgotten about the silent, broken creatures caged and chained within the room. Another set of green eyes caught her attention and she glared at them with a brewing hatred she could not explain. She attempted to stand, but found at least one muscle group in her lower back was to damaged, screaming at the burst of pain. She gritted her teeth and forced herself into silence. She had dealt with pain before. Dropping to her hands and knees, she grunted, the muscles of her face clenching tighter to muffle what would have been another scream upon impact. Pain before, yes, but not like this. She though to herself. She could not walk and she had to face that fact, but she would not, under any circumstances, crawl through the Undercity, much less the streets of Silvermoon. Her gaze returned to the faintly glowing green eyes watching her silently from across the room, suddenly able to place the source of her hatred. The pathetic thing was looking at her sympathetically. She scowled back at it, disgust bubbling up within her. It was not sympathy, no, worse, it was an empathetic gaze that it cast on her.

Crawling slowly, each movement sending pain shooting through her form, Bereave moved towards the other Sin'dorei in the room. She fell onto the cage, leaning against it for support and started to reach in through the bars, an overwhelming desire rising within her to claw out those eyes. A male blood elf, his head roughly shaved and his hands bound, even within the cage, continued to stare back out at her, too broken to even bother moving away as she reached for him. Bereave paused, pressing the welling hatred back down inside of herself. Forcing herself to think a bit more clearly, she retracted her hand, regarding him coldly. No, not this one. As many blind followers of Kael'thas as there may be, Blood Elf test subjects were still among the more difficult to acquire. A small movement a few feet over, unfortunate for its source, caught her eye.

A male troll, jumping when Bereave met his gaze, quickly averted his red eyes as the red haired elf released her hold on the cage before her. She pulled herself over the large metal cage in which he was held. Ah, yes, she remembered this one. A small, happy smile played over her face as she eyed the neat stitching holding the troll's mouth shut, her own handy work when the test subject had interrupted Lilithia's work with his wailing. Her hand snaked through the bars, cupping the troll's face and stroking the stitching affectionately with her thumb. This one would do. He had failed to be useful thus far and trolls bred like rabbits. He could be easily replaced. Bereave whispered a few words, a slight green glow growing between her hand and the troll's flesh as she drained the life force from him. She could feel the worst of the damage in her back mending. He was not strong enough to completely repair her, but at least she would be able to walk.

As the troll slumped down in the cage, his eyes growing wide before his body finally became still and limp, Bereave pulled herself to her feet. She shuddered. Only the worst of the damage was repaired, but she could walk home now. Her first tentative steps revealed a limp, in addition to a complete lack of grace to her movements. She groaned. Regardless, it was one step closer to going home. Now there was just the matter of her appearance. Looking down at her dress with disgust, she tried to pull it into a better position, but the burned section left her exposed no matter how she turned it. She drummed her fingers on the dead troll's cage, glancing around. A large cloak lay over a basket near the Blood Elf's cage. Ignoring the other elf, she snatched it up and held it before her. If was a man's, too large for her, but that was likely for the best. It would cover her completely. Bereave pulled the cloth around herself, careful not to extend her arms out too far or otherwise flex the muscles of her back too much. It covered her from head to toe, dragging the ground slightly in the back. Looking over herself, she decided it would do. With the entirety of her will, she placed one foot in front of the other and walked out of the lab, limping, but upright.

The tunnels of the Undercity were scarcely populated, and those within them paid little attention to yet another figure weaving through. The shuffling and thudding noises of those moving about deep in the sewers echoed from the stone walls, but, barring this, it was quiet as Bereave made her way to the surface. Each step sent waves of pain rippling through her. She kept her gaze straight ahead and used each searing sensation as motivation to take the next step. The jerk of the lift moving upward was most excruciating, her back muscles tensing to counter the sudden movement. Still, each step took her closer to home and it was a very short walk to the teleportation device that sent her back to Silvermoon. The first feeling of relief washed over her when she laid a hand on the glowing red orb and felt the odd, tingling sensation that meant she would very soon be in the privacy and comfort of her own bed.

Silvermoon was as quiet and still as the Undercity had been, perhaps more so. Only the rustle of leaves swirling in gentle breezes across the city streets broke the silence. The red haired elf passed no one other than a few guards, barely awake and obviously bored at their posts. They seemed utterly disinterested in her passing, just another elf in a city of elves, and she offered them equal acknowledgement. She tipped her chin only to the one nearest the entrance to the building that held her personal apartment.

Leaning against the door frame for support, Bereave fumbled with the lock. It had always been tricky to open, but she stayed there so rarely in recent days that she had forgotten the trick. After a few tries it popped open, nothing apparently different from the previous attempts. Groaning and rolling her eyes, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. A fine, barely noticeable layer of dust coated the interior. The space was small, bordering on tiny and inadequate. It contained little more than a bed, a collection of crates that served as desk and table as well, and a few shelves packed with tomes. A withered, long dead plant of some kind sat in a pot in a slit in the wall that pretended to be a window. The elf took only a single step in before she noticed the newest addition to the décor, a dark figure silhouetted in the minimal lighting.

A quick glance down showed a trail through the dust, the hem of robes having effectively swept a portion of the floor. Bereave fought the urge to groan in frustration as she eyed the figure sitting on her bed, paging through one of her books and absently petting the large, black tomcat that had always had a bad habit of slipping in through the small window that was barely wide enough for him to fit. The intruder did not speak, only the crackling, swishing noise of pages turning and the purring of the cat were audible. It was obvious to the elf woman who sat waiting for her in her small dwelling, and, preserving the silence, she all but ignored the Forsaken woman and continued on with what she was doing and began to look for a fresh robe, letting the oversized cloak fall in a heap on the tiled floor.

Moving the bottle of ink and quill that resided on the top of the crate desk, Bereave opened the top of one of the containers and pulled a soft, light weight yellow dress she was none too fond of out. It would irritate the flesh less than most of her wardrobe and she would feel no loss if it should be ruined by the fluids leaking from her wounds. She tossed it onto the bed, a small grunt of pain escaping her lips at the motion. Her visitor looked up at her and smiled.

“Before you change we should bandage you.” Lilithia’s voice rang out in the darkness. Bereave offered no reply, merely nodding and continuing to disrobe. The flesh seemed stuck to the fabric in many places. She felt the bile rise in her throat as she peeled the fiber back, taking most of the epidermis and varying amounts of dermis with it as she pulled. The urge to vomit nearly equaled the force of the scream bubbling up inside of her. Blood and fluid glued bits of the ruined robe to the gashes, including them in the scab. They began to open as she pulled away the fabric. By the time the robe was fully removed and discarded, it took all her strength to fall, panting, onto the bedding. The big tom cat jumped at the sudden movement and scurried off to another corner of the room. The Forsaken woman merely closed her book and scooted to the side, giving the Sin’Dorei some space to get more comfortable.

The urge to scream began to subside, replaced, instead, with a dizzy, nauseous, sinking feeling. The cool bed beneath her belly felt comforting, giving her some relief from the contrasting screams of the nerves in her back. Lilithia moved silently around her, reaching for a small jar of salve and some strips of cloth. As the elf groaned and struggled to remain conscious, blood flowed out of the reopened wounds and pooled in the dip of her lower back before dripping down her sides in small, warm streams. The Forsaken scrapped a generous amount of salve out the container and spread in across her palm. Careful to use only the soft, fleshy palms of her hand, Lilithia began to smear the goop over the whole of the elf’s damaged back. Bereave let out a small cry, muffled by her face being buried in her bedding. The pungent odor of the salve began to fill the small chamber.

“That smell is going to make me wretch.” Bereave groaned, her stomach heaving. She turned her head, relaxing slightly as the salve began to sooth the tortured flesh and halt the bleeding. Lilithia laid a few strips of bandaging across the wounds, shaking her head.

“It will neutralize the fel taint for the most part. I doubt you want to become an experiment in the effects of extreme exposure to fel energies on elven flesh.” The Forsaken replied, smoothing another bandage down over the wounds.

“I feel I already have.” The elf replied, accompanying the muttering with a weak grin. Lilithia smirked down at her, chuckling, and continued to place bandages over the damaged flesh. Bereave gazed back at her, asking in a lighter tone, “Am I so predictable that you knew I would come here?”

“I suspected you might. I suppose I could have waited for you to come to me, but we have business to discuss.” Lilithia answered, covering the last of the exposed wounds before leaning back into the cushions of the bed. Bereave laid her hands beneath her chin, propping her head up ever so slightly.

“I need a drink first, at minimum. Some juice or water. I’ve lost far too much fluid for one day.” The elf said, thoughtfully. Her companion nodded, reaching for her own water skin and offering it. Bereave arched herself up as much as she could and took a few large swallows. She heaved a sigh, then returned to the water, sipping a bit more. “What business?”

“Feyla is the majority of it.” Lilithia replied, rolling onto her back and placing her hands behind her head.

“Sunfall’s little xenophobic pet?” The elf probed, continuing to nurse the water.

“Yes, that one. She has become a complication--a negative influence on Alynne. Alynne is too attached and too gentle with her friend, despite the creature's appalling behavior. One could simply cut out the wretch’s tongue, but that could present an interesting set of political problems, do you not think?” The undead woman explained, gazing up at the ceiling. Bereave took a final swallow of the water before capping it and laying flat on the bed once again. She laid her face in the fluffy bedcover, breathing into it while thinking. Her head turned to let her face Lilithia after a moment.

“It would be unwise for an outsider on questionable ground in the city to openly threaten a noble or one under her protection. That is dangerous territory and a gamble for the best and oldest houses. Your position is not yet secure enough that I would advise it. Regardless, Lady Sunfall seems to have delicate enough sensibilities that I doubt it will require nearly so much to keep her in line, and to force her hand in keeping her little pet on a shorter leash.” Bereave answered, quiet and contemplative. “You need a far more veiled threat. Something to keep her afraid enough to control her, but not enough that she feels she must seek help to get away.”

Lilithia nodded, extending one clawed hand down to stroke the elf’s fiery mane. They drifted into silent thought, the Forsaken absently petting the Sin’dorei much like she had the cat that had lain at her side before. The whirring noise of an arcane guardian walking the street buzzed and reverberated through the small room. Bereave made a small humming noise to herself, lost in thought. The slightest of breezes flowed over the two, stirring the light curtain that hung over the bed. The elf lightly tapped two of her fingers against her cheek. She eyed her companion.

“We could use Leeo. He cares for her. It’s obvious enough, the scoundrel has a soft spot for her. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut about the details, but he would warn her to not test you if given an example of your handiwork.” The Sin’dorei grinned almost maliciously, nodding her head towards her back. “I believe he knows you are not exactly ecstatic with her choice of company. All he needs is an example of what might happen to his betrothed’s tender flesh should she continue down this path and wish to take any harm in her pet’s place.”

“If you ask him to heal you it will be blatantly obvious. That is just as much of an open threat.” Lilithia replied, looking mildly frustrated. Bereave nodded, a flicker of defeat showing only momentarily in her expression.

“True, but he does not strike me as the kind that would enjoy watching a woman suffer. It would not surprise me if he offered the next time we meet.” The elf smirked, a quiet giggle escaping her.

“We do not see him at regular intervals. To ensure you are still in need of healing we would need to do a poor job doctoring the injuries.” Lilithia returned to petting the elf’s hair, offering the comforting gesture with an inquisitive gaze.

“I can walk again. I would not dare leave the security of the city in this condition, but I can get by.” Bereave took a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder. “Pull the bandages off.” Lilithia sat up and reached for the first strip of cloth.

“Are you truly confident in your concept? The damage could become permanent if not healed soon.”

“If it goes too long I’ll have someone else heal it.” Bereave gave a quick nod in the affirmative, gritting her teeth. “Pull.” Clawed fingers gripped the edge of the bandaging, hesitating only a second before giving it a sharp tug to remove it. The elf clenched her jaw tighter at the first one, grunting in pain. At the second, her grunt was slightly louder. The grunts turned to weak groans by the fourth, and by mid-back Lilithia was pulling strips of cloth off the injured flesh of an unconscious heap.