She knew it was night, she could hear the soft sounds of night insects chirping in the weeds nearby. Weeds she knew of because she had been listening to the wind rustle them since they had begun to sprout from the flagstones. How long that had been, she had no idea. The days and nights she had lost count of a long time ago. There was no point in keeping track of days anyhow, not when every day was exactly the same
Knowing exactly how long this hell has lasted when I know it will never end will do nothing but drive me mad anyhow. Well, madder I expect. Doubt I'm much sane anymore. Pretty sure sane folk don't watch the grass grow
It had been a long time since the last orders had come. Without Arthas there to command them, may he get his just reward and burn eternally in suffering the undead legions that included her were left to their own devices. And without ability to control her own rotting body, her own devices were nil. Constantly patrolling the same route assigned her, unfailing, unfaltering. With the heavy tread of clomping hooves following behind.
Even in death you are faithful my friend. I wish though, that you were glue instead of stuck like this.
As she passed along her shuffling patrol, senses alert for any sign of life, she heard a new sound creeping into the night. Weeping. As soon as she recognized it, she felt her feet begin to carry her towards the noise. Resigned, in her mind she sighed, knowing what was to come. The first order imposed on her after she was pulled from the momentary piece of death was to kill the living.
And no matter how much I'm sure we all wish to, the Scourge do not weep
She approached closer to the noise, heard that it was growing louder than mere distance could make it. There was more than one. And more began weeping as she came closer. Confusingly, she heard among the tears laughter, and cheers. What could cause some to cry while others celebrated? And why, as the wind carried their scents on the wind, did she not smell any life from those she approached?
She heard a new noise, the sounds of footsteps coming towards her, and cursed whoever it was for a fool.
Away you idiot! Don't you see what I am? Unless you want to become prey to this corpse you will flee! But still the footsteps came, until whoever it was stood directly in her path. A woman, she learned, when it spoke to her in an eerie voice that rang with command.
"Stop."
She found the voice somehow familiar. In its ringing otherworldly tones it reminded her of the wails she had been hearing for months now. A banshee, another of the mindless hordes, that screamed its torment into the air each night. A banshee she had been envious of since the first time she had heard it scream. For at least it had that release to express its torture, whereas she had none.
"Stop."
She sneered at the presumptuous voice, it didn't understand, she couldn't stop, did it think she wouldn't if she could! Again taking up the battle against her own body she had long since ceased, she fought for control furiously, if only to deliver a slap to whomever this was that tormented her, taunted her imprisonment in this rotting shell. Mentally she spit venomous words, as she had all too often, with all the fury of a soul that knew itself to be forsaken by everything it had believed in, and had nothing to lose.
"STOP."
"I can't!"
"Oh can't you?" The empty, echoing voice seemed somehow amused.
"I…" She froze in shock, not daring to believe what had happened. She'd spoken! The voice that came from her mouth was rough, hollow and cold, but it was HER voice, and it had issued forth when she willed it to. "I…I…" In wonder she clenched her fists, feeling the long filthy nails of her now claw-like hands bite into her palms. She took a step forward, then, amazed, took a step back. Suddenly like a shattering dam, hysterical laughter rumbled out of her throat. Like she had been for days, months, perhaps even years without number, she was unable to control herself. But now she did not want to, she laughed the frenzied laughter of the insane, of the damned.
I'm free
The woman who had been a guard of Stratholme, a corpse by the roadside, a mindless shambling abomination of the Scourge, fell to her knees cackling madly. Her hands clawed into the earth, grasping and tearing through the dirt. She could feel the soil between her fingers and laughed all the harder, opening and closing her hands, marveling at the feeling of having them respond. Of being in control. She felt a hard nudge to her head and reached up. A wide muzzle of bone met her hand, and she laughed all the harder, joyously and hysterical, as she heard the ghostly whicker of her horse greet her. She had no doubt that had not the ravens stolen her eyes long ago, she would be among those crying. Instead, she threw back her head and howled.
"FREE!!!"
