"This shouldn't be happening," she breathed in disbelief, staring at her reflection in the scratched and stained silver, oval mirror. The face that stared back at her was a visage that evoked little recognition, and caused a strange tingling in her blood of fire and ice. A ghost took over the once swarthy skin of her face and her eyes were feral, red and ablaze. Her black hair remained as it had always been, cropped short, straight and plain. Yet the once lax hairstyle, one that was rare among Rounean women, was now disheveled by Germaine's own graceless hands.
"This is impossible! I'm no monster..." she tried to convince herself as she fingered her forehead, her hand filled to the brim with trepidation. She tried to hide it, to convince herself otherwise, to believe she was no becoming the very creature she swore to destroy. But the protrusions she felt beneath her palms were undeniable; tiny thorns to pierce the truth.
Slowly, Germaine pulled her hands away from her forehead, closing her eyes and taking time to rest her hands on either side of the oval mirror. The innate bravery in her blood thrust aside the sudden fear, tearing her eyes open. The truth was present before her and her eyes grew wide in a combination of fascination and repugnance. The sight that met her were two, albeit small, horns protruding from either side of her forehead, both of them mocking and menacing; a sign of a devil's touch.
Her breathing shallowed and grew heavy in her lungs as she gazed urgently at her reflection, the sense of horror no longer present. I don't understand, she thought. Yet I know it must have something to do with the accident last week. But...how can that be?
She tore her eyes away from the mirror and slumped herself upon the mattress, defeated in spirit and as confused as a prostitute at a dinner party for nobles. It all happened last week, the image of the great fire forever burned in her memory. But it wasn't her fault she kept trying to tell herself, the village was in danger and the fury burning within her was all that was needed to destroy the raiders that threatened it. She succeeded in doing so...but little did she know she took half the village and a great patch of the Draconi Forest with the inferno she created.
But there was no helping it. A Spellsword's power came from their emotions like hate, rage, pity, and mercy. Yet it was undeniable all she felt at the time was a great sense of hatred burning inside her; hatred so intense, it was unnatural for any human being. Things were getting stranger in her life and the fact that she was losing control of her destructive emotions was prodding at the edge of her psyche. Whispers of dread itched at her sentience, making her feel uneasy as she reviewed the memory and its consequences in her head.
"That's it," she said quietly to herself. "I need some fresh air. A nice ride around the countryside should do it." She nodded and stood, already clad in her crimson armor and two swords hanging by her side. Pushing the thought that the people of Arca would no doubt have heard of her recent exploit and award her with fervent whisperings of her being a 'witch' and therefore dangerous, she placed her helmet over her head and marched from her room toward the stables.
Surely a midnight ride on Ayszin would ease her mind. And that was just what she did when she leapt upon the saddled back of the black stallion, his docile manner allowing her to kick the heels of her boots into his sides that caused him to take off in a steady trot. Soon the image of Germaine de Secondus became nothing more than a silhouette against the moonlight as she treaded upon a calm evening in Serendipity.
