It was morning by the time Anisse returned to Stormwind. She moved her cowl back just a bit to see the sun rise over the city, over the so-called Valley of Heroes. It had never been a place she’d taken too much time to observe in passing. Looking at the grand statues now, touched by the yellows and oranges of the brightening day, in truth she found the place fetching. She smirked slightly in thought, knowing how much her former comrades would have liked to bring the city down to nothing but rubbish, to have toppled the castle and erect their great obsidian shrines of worship in its place.
By all measures, she had betrayed the Twilights, and fled the hidden caves she once called home. It was in the insectlike eyes of the Abyss Child that she found her chains of devotion broken. The urgent sense of freeing the sacrifice had enveloped her, making her feel this…mercy. It was so strange, such a sudden influx of emotion that she hadn’t felt before in so long. Somewhere, she felt a lingering disgust with herself, having betrayed them so. Were they searching for her? The notion of creeping back to the underground cavern and baring her treachery before her brethren was strong.
Fortunately, the instinct of living was stronger.
Anisse pulled the cowl back over her forehead, covering her tangles of hair. Her scalp itched annoyingly, and she was due for a bath, having spent the night collecting her treasures. It had been hard dragging the body of the bandit to the wolf den, not exactly being the strongest of women, but she managed well enough. She was pleased however, and an extra bound could be spotted in her gait as she traveled through the Trade Quarter. The cowled figure even afforded a few twittering waves of her fingers to random passerby in greeting, though what they might have thought about that she couldn’t determine, as she saw most only from the waist down. Exception to that was a gnome with salmon pink hair, his mustache curling up as he grinned back cheerily, returning her wave.
Gnomes always seemed naturally excited and happy to Anisse, even when they were in coffins.
On down the winding pathway did she go, divided from the Mage Quarter, ends of her robes drifting over tufts of green grass as she sped forward. The obscenely large feet of a night elf moved off to the side of the grassy walkway, letting her pass. She could feel the elf’s eyes on the back of her covered head as she walked, the weighted satchel at her side swinging to and fro like a pendulum. Though it left small droplets of blood in the moist grass, Anisse knew the day’s comings and goings would trample it away.
Climbing up the walkway to the Slaughtered Lamb, Jarol Moor, proprietor, gave his hermit patron a strange look. Was she waving at him? Stopping to talk to him?
“What can I do for you, my dear?” he said cordially, though his eyebrow cocked up impossibly high at her. He’d really never seen her so cheery. He was further curious when the woman pulled back her hood, revealing a pair of amber eyes lined in kohl. A grin pulled at Jarol, for she was soft-faced, unbecoming of a warlock, even an apprentice. He’d definitely had seen lovelier women by comparison, scandalously gorgeous, in fact, like that Ursula Deline. This one wasn’t too bad to look at either, though.
“Another bowl of the usual, milady?” he crooned, ready to serve with wooden bowl and spoon. Anisse stopped him abruptly, and instead grabbed for a satchel, pulling it up to lie on the bar table. When she pulled out the wrapped, bloody packages, and set them gently before him, Jarol was simply at a loss.
“I have some lamb for you here. I do know how expensive it can be purchasing it from the market, so I took the liberty of bringing some myself.”
Jarol opened up the packages to find a few bloody masses of flesh, the paper stubbornly clinging to the slick organs. He could make out what looked like a liver, and a rope of intestine, while the other unwrapped packages seemed unrecognizable. They seemed clean however, and that was good enough for him.
“You’re most gracious, miss.” Jarol nodded to her in thanks, and rewrapped the packages, placing them into the ice box beneath the bar table.
“Do make sure to invite a few choice guests to the Slaughtered Lamb when you serve the meat.” Anisse held the cherished heart to her chest possessively, wrapped up inside the leather bag. Her eyes connected to Jarol’s with meaning. “I believe some honored paladins might enjoy the meal most of all.”
She liked to share her treasures.
Ah, but the most sacred treasure was hers alone. It sat locked in her arms as she traveled down below, until her feet scraped against the familiar stone of the crypts. Eyeing the crate where her empty jars sit, Anisse sighs, opening the lid tenderly. The succubus heart is the first to greet her with its crimson glow, the fire of it eternally left to burn inside the muscle. The empty jars surrounding it needed their life too. At one time, she’d collected them simply for magical purposes, and they were used as quickly as she gathered them. Now, the collection was more a ritual to her. The need to have them gnawed at her as hunger would to an emaciated child: there was simply no ignoring it.
Carefully lying her leather bag on the stone floor, she reached into its confines and pulled the mass of bloody flesh out. The heart trickled blood down between her fingers and ran down her arm as she held it up, admiring. Sliding the glass jar across the stone, she forced the organ into its opening with a sickening pop, and it drifted slowly in the clear concoction within, turning it a deep red. Anisse grinned, sighing contently.
Her collection had started. Anew.
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