lacking the strength to make the trek to the spiritglade and the safety of her den, almalexia rested near the bridge of souls. for many hours she slept. dreams of druids, of blood and song and devotion, washed over her. when she woke she felt revived. ailing still, yet energized. she knew that she would live.
once a prophet, now only a shadow. just as she had begun, but alone this time. without the saint or the iron guardian, without the wispmother to guide her in the dark.
alone and unequaled.
as she was always meant to be.
she drew herself up from her sands and walked along her shores. she gazed upon her ocean, her beautiful dark waters. the tide was low, the bridge of souls exposed like a glimpse of bone rising through skin. the islands were quiet. for now.
once a prophet, now only a shadow. just as she had begun, but alone this time. without the saint or the iron guardian, without the wispmother to guide her in the dark.
alone and unequaled.
as she was always meant to be.
she drew herself up from her sands and walked along her shores. she gazed upon her ocean, her beautiful dark waters. the tide was low, the bridge of souls exposed like a glimpse of bone rising through skin. the islands were quiet. for now.
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