Viora's Dream

“Viora…”

The soft-spoken whisper stirs her from her slumber. Not knowing who it was, she opens her eyes to question the party. A small gasp escapes her, not because they are not among her, but at the sight of immense trees. Trees that tower and reach to the sky, with branches that seem to stretch and intertwine into glows of orange, red, and yellow. Something once known intimately, vaguely remembered. As the beauty of this eternal autumn dances across her vision with the caressing breeze, she hears her voice gently say a single word.

“Mithrendain.”

A head filled with a fog; Viora takes a moment before she realizes she is walking. Each step taking her closer towards a muffled sound. The scene fluctuates around her. Elandrin. Gracefully moving around in a trance-like dance, Satyrs and Harengon dotted among them. The muffled sound becomes clearer; music, joyful and playful.

A flash of color catches her eye. Her head turns in what felt like slow-motion. Viora’s eyes fall on an hourglass raised on high by a silhouetted figure. Their features hide in the shifting shadows. Only glowing grey eyes, a twisted smile, and the glint of something peeking through; a crest or sigil, perhaps? The silhouetted individual regards her for a moment, its head tilted slightly to one side. A jolt of fear pulses through her as the hourglass comes down and slams on the ground, sending a ripple of fog outwards.

As the billowing fog clears, she is acutely aware of the stilling silence around her. No festival, no sounds of joy, no beautiful glowing of leaves. Instead, sorrow. A soft crying that tugs at her chest. She looks back. The darkness swallows the spot where the figure was; now, another lies motionless on the ground. She felt her body move forward. This shadow of a figure almost trying to take shape as she approached. Something…familiar. Someone…important to her. Someone…

Thoughts become distracted by something beneath her feet. She looks down and raises a foot. Thick, semi-congealed blood strands stretched from the black ground and clutched to the bottom of her feet. A pool of blood centered on the forming individual in front of her. Viora’s shaky hand reaches forward to touch the prone figure. Cold. Still. Lifeless. She felt a heavy weight, and found it isn’t the figure crying as her chest heaves and her eyes sting. She eases the figure so that they lay on their back.

Shock. Panic. Terror.

Long-faded, lifeless purple eyes stare back at her. Familiar eyes. Her eyes. Yet, this HER that she sees seems different. Older. Almost…comforting…even though it brings wave after wave of inexplicable sorrow. A weight on her shoulders, like many hands pressing her down, holds her gaze as the being in her embrace fades and shifts with the shadows and fog.

“Viora.”

The sobs catch in her throat as she swiftly looks around. That voice. The one that woke her before. She searches around in complete darkness. No light. No blood. No eyes. Nothing but the ebbing pain in her chest and the mountain on her back.

The sound of creaking, twisting wood echoes in the darkness and she felt a pull, like a rope tugging her. Blindly, something forces Viora forward, and she felt she was being watched. Studied. Observed. From the nothingness in front of her, she watches a great and dirty root crawl from ground that she cannot see. Roots that are slick with an unknown substance, twisting and turning in on itself. Dread couples the pain in her chest as the tangle shambles a step towards her.

The unseen force prevents Viora from mustering the strength to fight, forcing her to stop.

Another step.

The mass of soiled, greasy roots draws closer.

Another step.

It forms into the general shape of a humanoid, the eyeless head turning to her.

One. Last. Step.

Paralyzed, with the face of twisted roots inches from her own. There is a stirring in her mind. A gentle poke and prod. She watches as the roots that fill her vision crack down the middle. Each root popping and flinging a tiny amount of wet dirt as it goes. The roots peel back to reveal a beautiful elven woman beneath. The roots end their revelation just under her smooth, pale collarbones. That’s all she notices before that tickling on her mind becomes a lance that jolts her, allowing an involuntary shriek of shock from her. As she opens her eyes, Viora meet hers. Completely black eyes that consume her. Viora’s breath quickens, as the terrible shadows claw at her mind and enshrouds them both.

“You would turn me away?”

That voice, rich as it whispers in her mind. Terrifying. Beautiful.

“No.”

Those onyx irises grow hard. The pain in Viora’s chest dissipates. Only the dread remains.

“You are not finished yet.”

Her body becomes wracked with pain and agony as the lunar tattoos that adorn Viora’s body flare with a deep purple glow. The sound of a cacophony of ravens fills her ears, threatening to shatter her mind. All she sees are those eyes, her eyes, hard...threatening...hungry. Viora let out a scream that tears at her throat, whether it be pain or terror. Those eyes…

And then…she wakes.