'Kill her'
A whisper was heard.
'Who hears—who speaks—Do you still listen, my beloved?'
Alistair's eyes darted and preyed, ears raised to listen. The intrusion of the intruder was palpable, ferocious, an obsession unsee-like blood; a velvet shade.
Luscious. Adulterous. Lecherous.
Unloved. Betrayal. Yearning.
"This voice." Alistair muttered. "It is different."
Greysword was unsheathed.
"Not Abdiel, or that titan. More unrestrained… More twisted."
It was ethereal—a soul of dreamy forms, or an idea that flickered, fleeting.
A voice at his shoulders: be free.
Then, he saw scarlet.
'I see you. Why hide, my love?'
"What!?" Alistair leapt with a push that was mighty—his heart yearned for escape; thoughts began to race.
The tears in space were stitched and latched by reality.
A wail echoed.
Eagerness personified.
… There was soon silence.
