Regrets

The dreams haunted her. They always started similar and ended the same. The setting varied – Azeroth, Draenor, Argus or any of the other hundreds of worlds she and her people had called “home” at one time – but it began peaceful, secure, happy. That peace would never last, such a familiar scenario to an exile as her. Always that peace was broken by screaming, terror, bloodshed. A vicious cycle spanning the entirety of the thousands of years her of life.

A terrified gasp shook her back to full awareness.

It gave her only small comfort that she did not need to sleep, for that surely brought the nightmares and had for more years than she could recall.

Thankfully, sleep was for the living, but now even her waking hours were perforated by these troubling visions and memories. Merely closing her eyes or pausing to reflect for any span of time sent her into one of these terrifying reminiscent states.

In addition, not only did she relive the horrors she and her people had fallen victim to, now she was haunted by the atrocities she herself had committed.

“Light, forgive me…” she whispered, recalling painfully the horrendous things she had done in the name of the Lich King, when she had been fully bound to his iron will.

Death Knight. That was the fitting name given to those wretched souls befalling a similar fate as her. Raised into undeath to serve as a mindless pawn, a soulless killing machine.

Oh, if only she had been spared the personal hell of awaking from that control and becoming all too aware of the innocent blood that stained her hands.

Effraeti could not help but look at those hands – those twisted tools of evil.

No longer able to properly call herself “Draenei.” No, Effraeti knew only one word in her language appropriate to describe the wicked abomination she had become…

“Man’ari…” Demon.

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