The First Union

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
The first submission of Palesoul's transformation.

Submitted: December 21, 2011

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Submitted: December 21, 2011



Rozen looked upon her hands as the shafts of light broke through the curtains and danced along the clean lines of her palm. She contemplated for a moment on the traces of dust that illuminated in the light, slowly falling on her hand. These delicate thoughts of nothing has kept her sane enough in her self-imposed exile.

Six months…. It had been six months since she decided to leave her prosperous life in Stormwind behind and disappeared, disappeared into the city of mages. Dalaran had truly served as her home since the Northern War ran its course; had she ever really left the comfort of her beloved little sanctum above the Purple Parlor? No… no… of course not. But when she closed her eyes, her mind danced away from the room, it ran back to Stormwind – her last warm thoughts of being embraced in its most natural form; indeed she thought that for a moment she could love and be loved. It all came crashing down once her grey eyes opened in the midst of the tempest, the conundrum between marrying another noble or losing the legacy she had built.

She clenched her fist, but let go at once – letting her head hang dejectedly. She truly failed not only herself, but the man whom she had thrown away everything for.

Through the darkest of strands imprisoning her fair face, a smile was glimpsed upon her face as she whispered his name, “Gabriel.”

She shook her head, how could she ever let someone impede her path – from this one man, to a whole council who dared to take what rightfully belonged to her. She had shed blood for their lives, and they return her kindness with such impunity. Rozen stood at once, enraged – but the feeling was fleeting. Soon she stepped into the main hallway, empty once again.


She did it again. She had made him so nervous – the room must be flooded in his sweat. Why did she like to tease him so; ruining his composure with her silly “unlady-like” antics?

One moment, she was showing him her beautiful and lavish suite in the residential wing of the Violet Citadel – from her grandeur armory to her fully furnished bedroom – next moment, she was staring him in the eyes with such a practiced hunger. That golden gaze was undeniable as she prowled towards him like a tigress slowly striding towards her crippled prey. Yes indeed, he was her prey as he looked at her face with despair. He couldn’t even play coy anymore. This was the end of the line.

Oh he knew that she knew what she was doing; the problem now was convincing her that he knew what he was doing.

“M-Mary… Mary, I’m warning you – I do very bad things,” Siphris stammered, “You’re going to regret cornering me – I’m like a wild beast.”

“Oh, darling, I bet you are.” She walked casually around him towards the end table, turning her back on him. She did it again, that subtle flip of her hair, allowing him the glance of her impeccable profile. Everything she did looked so calculated – as if every measure of movement was supposed to push him over the edge of insanity, from the brush of her extended fingers along a single ornate box upon the end table to the slow turn to face him. There she was, facing him with that fluid smile that must have disarmed a thousand men prior to him.

Right, because Mary was that kind of woman. How repulsive.


“Mister Ixxila.”

“Are you sure you’re an elf? Did you fall on your head, is that why you’re so short?”

“Explains why I’m oh so absolutely dazed… this… very… moment.” With every word, she was somehow closer. How is it that someone so short could look so tower over him?

Then she did it, attacked him that is, an assault with gritted teeth and of utmost violence. She had him pinned right where she wanted him. Her hands were on the sides of his face, forcing him to look upwards as if he was prostrated upon her altar and his hands were helplessly clinging to her sides, searching all over the expanse of her body for an appropriate place to hold on to and failing miserably.

In that livid and beautiful moment, something quite unexpected began to happen – at first the sensation was warm and engrossing then suddenly there was screaming. He had felt himself aflame and these screams were definitely not ones of passion – they not only came from his mouth, but hers as well. The necklace he had given to her illuminated at once in the sickly dancing flames that enveloped them both. The soulstone was glowing brighter than he had ever seen it before and he could see the wisp of his soul escaping, slowly moving around her neck now.

Time seemed to slow in that erratic instance, nothing was in place, not her wonderful hair – not her wonderful smile – not her entrancing gaze. She was horrified, as they always were in that second when one realizes that they were disappearing into flames. He stared at her, equally horrified. The sickly green fire consumed her quickly – hotter than hellfire and more destructive than any spell he had ever cast. To him, the event was elongated to years of despair. The necklace gave one fatal squeeze around her neck and she evaporated into ashes. Her soul burst from her form, forming a graceful band around the soulstone before collapsing into its center.

His mind was racing as he stood ever so still and dumbfounded. He had just destroyed his Hornless Mary and captured her soul. The soulstone seemed to float into his hands as he stared at it stupidly, clothed in burnt robes that was half ash clinging to his body.

He screamed wordlessly for a straight ten seconds before bursting out her door and running, stone in hand. He ran down the corridors, screaming in terror without a particular destination. Recklessly he plowed through lines of innocent bystanders, all confused as they picked themselves up from the ground. He held the stone tightly in his hand, afraid – and uncertain. It must have been a sight to see, a half-naked man covered in burnt remnants of what appeared to be clothing - running.

“WHAT HAVE I-“He was interrupted at once as he finally encouraged the formulation of words. In that instance before impact, he saw a woman slowly close the door behind her and look upon him with the gentlest expression he had ever seen. Her lips and eyes half opened, her expression of utmost sadness and dejection – but the look all together was so composed. It was a look to be studied if remembered; a look that was holy in its melancholia.

In that split second, her grey gaze met his before they inevitably collided with such impact that would make celestial bodies envious.

The woman had stopped him with such a force; no doubt with a steadied stance that was only second nature to an experienced warrior. He stumbled backwards and the soulstone was flying in the air. The woman had caught it easily with her free hand.

She looked at him and then at the stone curiously. Another instantaneous effect occurred.

At this point, he must’ve been tired of seeing these insane moments in slow motion.

The woman gasped as the stone began to pierce her with shafts of light. She stood there, silent as her body absorbed the light – stumbling. After the light dimmed and the event passed, her eyes rolled upwards and she fell to her knees and onto the ground – completely incapacitated.

Siphris stared at the woman in shock. He had done it now… killed two birds with one stone, literally…

“W-what happened?” A voice came through, from the woman. It sounded so familiar, the cultivated tone, but it was a completely new speaker, “Siphris… ugh – why is my head hurting?”

“Mary… Mary! You’re alive!” He dropped to his knees next to the woman, “Mary, Mary, Mary – I’m so sorry.”

“What- what about? Mmmph… I feel so odd.” The woman finally looked up to him, but there was no longer a grey stare – the orbs were like liquid gold, just as Mardöll’s had been. They even glowed as a Kaldorei’s eyes would.

“Hell, Mary… now you really do look human. Funny thing – I think you’re taller than you were before….”

© Copyright 2018 Rosen Mary. All rights reserved.

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