Vernacular

I suppose that shattering the window was not one of my better ideas. I had given absolutely no heed to those around me, for I surely disturbed at least the nearby occupants. I do not think I intentionally made the motion; my body had been wracked by the pain of my memories, and my hand lashed out at the specters of that burning room, those wicked humans, and my failure at rescuing her. I had never looked back as I made my way from the smoldering heap of wood, flesh, and glass. I had been a Rogue ever since; this is why I defied the warm embrace of a home. There was always that looming fear that, once again, a girl would smile at me from across the room, never foreseeing those flaming splinters.

The reappearance of Maharet did not surprise me in the least, though I was still abashed at my behavior. I had acted irrationally, and should have made a better effort to maintain my composure. After working my way around the problem--my mastery of words may be the only manipulative facet of my being--I exited through the now empty window frame and descended to the floor below. It was only my first night of occupancy and I had already made a fool of myself. I made a feeble attempt at calming myself by attempting to persuade Maharet into a sparring match, but the elegant head of our coven seemed to have revoked such brutish practices--I found this somewhat humorous, for we were completely open to all of the other violent practices of our kind. Maharet attempted to bring me another sparring partner, but I seemed to have lost the will to continue. It had nothing to do with the individual in question,--I would have to become acquainted with the various other occupants of the home sooner or later--I simply felt too much of a fool to ask for such favors. I took my leave of the coven grounds and escaped to the newfound comforts of my now airy room. I was not completely comfortable with my surroundings as of yet, but it would have to suffice, for now. Maybe at some point I would escape back into the wilderness for a time, take my leave of the formalities of this house. But, acting the detached Rogue so early in this game would get me no where. I needed to maintain my composure, lest a second window find its demise at the hand of my--well, at my hand.

I moved towards the bed and removed my somewhat weighty cloak, deciding to keep the comfort of my blades at my hip. They were as much companions as a reminder of my personal demons. Before I had abandoned the wreckage of the old Coven, I had salvaged these two fine weapons from a reasonably intact corner of the structure. As I had picked them up, I made a promise to their former wielders that they would continue to thrive off of blood, as they would have wished.

They have been my fangs ever since.

I stared out the open window, listening to the various nocturnal melodies drifting in. As much as I wished they could have comforted me, I felt no warmth. I suppose I never would.

I am sorry

I was distantly aware of the thought fluttering though my mind, weaving its way through the maelstrom of my other memories. I was not sure who I was apologizing to. Maybe it was the stalwart warriors I had failed to fight besides, as I had sworn I would. Maybe it was the terror stricken lovers I had not saved, who now would never know another waking embrace. Maybe it was the ancient tapestries that had been reduced to ashes, the memories woven into their threads now condemned to nothingness. Or maybe, just maybe, I was apologizing to her, for everything I had not said, everything I had not done. For not telling her I loved her, one more time.

Or maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself.

I kept my eyes trained towards the window, and somewhere, across the wind and trees and animals and life, I heard a twinkle of piano keys.