Friday Fiction.

By | July 31, 2009

((So Feathermoon used to have EPIC world PvP battles at Tarren Mill, to the point we crashed the server.  Frequently.  One week, I decided I’d fic about what my character would do if everything froze.  Here was the result.  Ta!))

The world went dark. 

One moment, Tarren Mill, Melciah, and the threat of imminent Alliance danger.  The next . . . she was alone.  They all vanished, phantoms in some nightmare.  The world was the same, but no longer peopled. 

Yva swallowed hard.  


“Mmm?”  She heard him say.  She spun around, her eyes wide, searching.  She glanced at the darker places, wondering if perhaps he was dancing in his shadows as he so often did, but there was nothing.  No flicker, no glimmer of power on those nasty curved blades.  He was a voice, but not a body.  

Why the idea sent a shiver of terror down her spine, she couldn’t say. 

“Where are you?” she rasped, whirling in a circle. 

“Right beside you, love.”

“No, no you’re not.” 

The breeze flickered, the world seemed to turn on its axis, and she swore she could feel phantom arms holding her close in a ghostly embrace.  “Right beside you.” 

“I can’t see you!”  

“I’m standing right beside you.  Yva, are you all right?” 

“I don’t know.”  

Over the buzzbox, she heard murmurs of a similar phenomenon.  Kalmidor had gone almost completely incommunicado, leaving the Eastern Kingdoms alone to ponder exactly how – or why – something of such a grandiose scale could happen. 

“I don’t like this,” she said suddenly, not even realizing that she’d spoken the thought aloud.  There was static, a smattering of noise over the buzzbox, before Emeline’s girlish lilt offered reassurance that all would be well.  Yva swallowed a bit of hysterical laughter.  Maybe she was the only one who thought that an entire continent going silent was panic worthy.  Perhaps she was overreacting. 

And so, to compensate for the immensity of the thing, Yva resorted to an old friend: humor.  “Well, maybe the dark lords have conquered Kalimdor.”  To be truthful, she knew little about dark lords or old gods, but it sounded witty.  Didn’t it? 

“Are you with me?”  Melciah asked, a nearby voice as opposed to the distant conversation of people on a buzzbox channel.  

“I can’t see you.” 

“I know.  Are you all right?” 

Yva sank down on the ground, tucking her knees into her chest.  Her arms went around her legs and she closed her eyes, wishing it all away.  “I don’t really know.  But make it stop, please.”

How she hated feeling alone.

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