Death is strange.
Coldness that creeps into her body from the ground she lays on.
Wind softly brushing through her hair, the fresh scent of grass and rain and sunset in a long summer's day.
And the never ending screams of agony as people keep falling around.
Death is forgetfulness and deliverance.
Yet pain persists in her numb body, as if not willing to give up its pray.
Death is absence, but she can feel and hear.
Realization washes her like a frost nova. Trapped.
He must have slipped it somewhere within her things, maybe in the pouch of mageweave...she hadn't open that in weeks.
How dare he, may his corrupted soul be taken by the Burning Legion?! How dare he do this to her, one of the Hand of Argus, a follower of the Naaru, a wielder of the light?!
She's trapped.
She can not move her hand. Not a single muscle. Yet her consciousness is still there, and Laandra tenses, her will contorting and extending towards the little object lost somewhere in her back pack.
There is no pain now, just the utter helplessness as she forces herself to touch it with her mind.
And the gem breaks.
No, it explodes, shattering in a thousand little pieces.
Void sucks her in almost instantly, and there is agony again, as her body spasms on the ground…Laandra falls forever through her own twisted consciusness, desperatley trying to hang on to some memory of herself.
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