There was no fall in Quel’thalas. Not really.
She sat at the edge of one ruined yard and stared at the stream that had carved a path through the ruins of Silvermoon along with the rain. The same rain that soaked her clothes, sapping away her warmth and leaving a lingering sense of unhappiness.
Unhappiness bit away at her day, taking away the pieces she had built herself up with. Her clothes were wet, her makeup ran down her face and mud caked her boots.
But she still breathed. It wasn’t real after all. Stress and anxiety lied to her.
But it screamed it was true.
“Lies.” Windsong whispered, watching the small stream run.
She just had to keep breathing. Keep going. She knew it.
Ignore the screaming. Keep going. SImple enough when spoken aloud or written down.
But as the rain fell harder her head lowered and shoulders sagged.
It would take time before she returned to climb over the fences to her now- usual haunt. “Eventually.” She would eventually.
First to rebuild herself. Piece by broken piece until she was whole and had won her internal struggle.
Then she’d return to being bitter and angry again.
But right now she was just tired.
Tyleril Silversword 