The wind howled, rattling some of the loose windows. It was dark outside, past midnight, and raining. Light flashed, illuminating the room and the rumpled mess of despair curled up on the floor. A few moments later, thunder cracked and then rumbled. Gwenore's whole body shook. Her forehead was pressed against the floor, the surface damp from the tears that wouldn't stop falling. Her face was also wet, with tear tracks streaking her cheeks, and her dark brown hair was plastered to her forehead from a mix of rain, sweat, and tears. The skirts of her black dress lay in a rumbled mess out around her.
Gwenore lifted her head to peer out at the darkness beyond the murky windows. Her knees hurt, her head hurt, her heart hurt. Her soul screamed from the loss. Her brother, her best friend, was gone. Gwenore's body shook as she was overtaken by silent sobs. Her mouth opened to cry out but there was no sound.
Another flash of lightning brought another crack of thunder.
As every second passed, Gwenore felt more and more like the weather outside. Her thoughts ripped through her like a howling wind, slowly tearing her up from the inside out. Her sadness, like rain, washed over her in sheets, drowning her other emotions, until the angry lightning struck, bringing with it a furious crack of thunder. It all raged inside her head, matching the storm beyond the four walls of the room. Gwenore focused on the rhythmic sound of raindrops on the windows, and the sobs subsided. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. She took a moment to cool down, and then pushed herself up into a seated position, staring at herself in the old mirror leaning against the wall. The reflection stared back at her. For a long moment, Gwenore examined herself, feeling the anger build up and turn into fury, then determination. Amber eyes- her eyes- filled with hatred, and darkened at the images rushing through her head.
She would find whoever did this, and she would bring a fate worse than death down on them. She would make them suffer, and she would savour every moment of it.
Gwenore stood, mind set on her goal. She ripped the dress off, the bits of her clothing falling around her. More lightning flashed as she pulled on her leathers, and then her boots. The armour, her mother's old battle armour, was kept in a small room on the other side of the house. Gwenore slipped through the narrow hallways, listening out for her father who was on a grief-stricken rampage. The door, old and not often opened, creaked on its hinges, and Gwenore sucked in a breath. But, there was no other movement in the house, so she sneaked into the room and closed the door behind her. The armour was kept in a cabinet. Having not been used for years, it was no longer shiny. Small dents and scratches covered the surface from her mother's time in battle, but in her mother's opinion there was no better armour made in the world. Several times, Gwenore had come in here to don the armour, standing in it before the long mirror and imagining what it would be like to ride into battle with it. Now, she stood before the mirror again. It was less bulky than she rememered, fitting more snugly toher frame. Picking up her sword, Gwenore practiced a few stances, going through the routine her brother had made her practice every day. It didn't restrict her movements now that she'd grown into it, and allowed for fluid, smooth, movement. In the dark, a slow and sinister smile spread across her face. Oh, what a picture she would be sitting atop her mighty steed. Gwenore could almost feel Terra's anticipation mimicking her own.
Snow and Sleet Mix, Clearing at Night
