It was odd how Isirami took charge of my well-being in ways I never expected. She cut me off from drinking earlier than I wanted, and she rationed my pain pills, insisting they had to last. At first, I resented her for it, feeling like she was trying to control the one thing that gave me some relief. But looking back, I realize she was saving me from myself. No matter how busy she was, she always made time to talk, to listen, to just be there when the silence felt too suffocating. She even accompanied me to the clinic, helping me through every painful step of physical therapy.
I was drowning in loneliness, isolating myself in the dark depths of my depression. My body was broken, but my spirit was shattered beyond recognition. I questioned the purpose of my existence, wondered what all this pain was for. Meeting Oranio, even under the pretense of being a spy, had been the only spark in the endless night. I realized then that all I had ever needed was someone to talk to, someone who could understand the weight of my burdens, someone who could make me feel less alone.
But with Oranio, I could only share fragments of myself. I could tell him stories about Silvermoon, my mother, and the lingering bitterness of being barred from joining the campaign against the Lich King, but I could never tell him who I truly was. He shared his own pain too—his world torn apart when he was just a child. Unlike me, he hadn’t let his past fester into a thirst for revenge. He found ways to keep moving forward, where I had been stuck, clinging to old wounds that refused to heal.
He once told me it was a blessing that I never went to fight the Scourge, that the battles would have hardened me beyond recognition. He said I wouldn’t be the sweet person he knew, and worse, that I might have died, and he’d never have had the chance to meet me. That’s when I knew why I loved him, why I had fallen for a Draenei, someone who should have been my enemy. He saw me for who I was, not what I had done. I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted to stay, but I was trapped in my own tangled web of duty and deceit. It hurt because I didn’t want to lose him, yet I couldn’t keep him either. And then he was gone—killed not even a full day after we made love, leaving me with nothing but memories and regret.
The Silver Covenant tried to keep me alive, gave me an elixir to keep my eyes blue and ordered me to rest after Garrosh nearly gutted me with Gorehowl. But I knew my healing needed more than just rest; it needed the Sunwell. I went with Isirami, but between treatments, I resorted to the old habits of a blood elf. I drained arcane energy from anything I could find—enchanted weapons, mana users, magical creatures—whatever would give me a fleeting sense of strength. My eyes turned green again, betraying my nature. But Isirami never wavered. She let me back into Hero’s Welcome, sharing her bed with me without question, without judgment. She took me in, flaws and all, as if my brokenness didn’t bother her.
Through it all, I realized that maybe it wasn’t about recovering who I used to be. Maybe it was about finding the courage to live with what I had lost, and who I had become. And in that quiet, painful space, Isirami was there, holding the pieces together when I couldn’t.
I wish I could say Isirami was just a friend, someone who was there for me in my darkest times, but it was more complicated than that. I know she wanted more, and I couldn’t give her what she needed, what she deserved. When I think of her, I feel a wave of guilt that I can’t shake. There’s a profound shame in being treated like a helpless child and being painfully aware of it—of having someone wipe you, clean you, sing to you, feed you, and cheer for every agonizing step as you relearn to walk. She gave me so much, and I was utterly incapable of giving back even a fraction of what she gave to me.
Isirami did everything—helping me with range-of-motion exercises, guiding me with resistance bands, and providing support during those humiliating moments when I needed help with simple tasks. Her care was constant, and at times, overwhelming. It felt like there was no part of my life she didn’t touch, and for someone like me, who thrived on independence, it was difficult to accept.
The physical therapy sessions were intense. Isirami would stretch my limbs, her hands firm and steady as she guided me through each movement. I could feel her breath, the warmth of her body as she leaned close to support my weight or adjust my posture. There was something unspoken in those moments—something beyond the roles of caretaker and patient. Her touch wasn’t just clinical; it felt personal, and I couldn’t deny the electricity that sometimes sparked between us when our eyes met or when her fingers lingered on my skin a little too long.
As I struggled through the exercises, pushing myself to regain strength and mobility, there was an underlying attraction that simmered between us. I often found myself wondering if she felt the same, or if I was just imagining it. Her eyes would soften when she looked at me, and the way she smiled made my heart flutter. But she never made her intentions clear, and I was left with a mix of confusion and longing. It was frustrating not knowing where we stood, whether the closeness we shared was just part of the healing process or if it meant something more.
When she would help me stretch, her hands would gently guide my body, her voice soft and encouraging. Sometimes, it felt like there was more in her words than just the desire to see me healed. Her gaze would linger, and the way her fingers brushed against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. It was those small moments that made me feel like there could be something beyond the therapy, a connection that neither of us dared to speak about.
There were times when I wanted to reciprocate, to reach out and show her that I noticed, that I felt something too. But the situation made it impossible—I was still on crutches, confined to a wheelchair, reliant on her for everything. It frustrated me more than a little, knowing that I couldn’t make an advance even if I wanted to. She was the one in control, and as much as I trusted her, I hated the imbalance between us. I wanted to be able to stand on my own two feet, to be her equal in every sense, but I wasn’t there yet.
Isirami’s care was always unwavering. She pushed me, both physically and emotionally, to confront my limitations and overcome them. She celebrated every small victory with me, from the first time I stood without support to the day I took my first step. Her joy was infectious, and for a while, it made me forget the pain and frustration of my recovery. But even in those moments of triumph, there was an unspoken tension between us—a desire that lingered, unacknowledged.
Sometimes, during those long sessions, I would catch her looking at me, her eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name. Was it admiration? Affection? Or something deeper? I would look away, pretending not to notice, unsure of how to respond. I wasn’t ready for anything beyond the physical therapy, but her presence made me feel alive again in ways I hadn’t felt since before the injury. And maybe that was enough.
The lines between us blurred as my recovery progressed. She was more than just a caregiver—she was my anchor, my constant support. And in those quiet moments, when she helped me stretch or when her hands steadied me as I wobbled on weakened legs, I found myself drawn to her in ways I couldn’t fully understand. It was a mix of gratitude, attraction, and something else—something that made my heart ache with both hope and fear.
I could see it in her eyes too, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. There was a longing there, and maybe a hesitation. She would reach out to adjust my posture, her fingers brushing against my arm, and I could feel her pause, just for a moment, before pulling away. It made me wonder if she was holding herself back, if she felt the same uncertainty I did.
But even with all these moments between us, Isirami was careful. She always seemed to look around, to check if anyone was watching, before her touch lingered or her gaze softened. It was as if she was afraid to let anyone else see what was growing between us, or perhaps she was afraid to let herself fully acknowledge it. And each time she pulled away, it left me feeling both frustrated and relieved—frustrated that I couldn’t do more, and relieved that she wasn’t pushing me beyond what I was ready for.
Despite everything, despite the confusion and the tension, Isirami stayed by my side. She never let me fall, never let me lose hope. And while I wasn’t sure if I could give her what she wanted, I knew that I needed her. She was the reason I kept pushing forward, the reason I wanted to stand on my own again—not just to be independent, but to be her equal, to show her that I could be more than just someone she needed to take care of. And maybe, someday, I could be someone she could truly love.
There were times when I thought I might be falling for her, that maybe our strange, complex bond was love—or at least the closest thing I could find in my broken state. But deep down, I knew that what we had was more about survival, about finding solace in each other’s company when everything else felt empty and meaningless. She was my escape, my comfort, and perhaps, my most unexpected healer.
One day, I was sitting at the bar, watching Isirami as she moved between patrons, her confidence radiating as she poured drinks and flashed her inviting smile. She had this way of swaying slightly to the music, her eyes occasionally meeting mine with a knowing glance, a silent acknowledgment of our shared connection. I usually ordered the strongest drink I could find, while she preferred to sip something lighter, more to loosen up than anything else. There was an ease about her, a fun, flirty nature that drew people in, making them envious of anyone she seemed to favor—especially me, since everyone knew I had been staying in her bed, though I always insisted there was nothing more to it.
But I knew better. I knew the way her scent lingered on my skin, the way her presence filled the emptiness inside me in a way that no one else had been able to. And maybe, just maybe, there was a part of me that wanted more too, a part that was too scared to admit that I was just as drawn to her as she was to me.
Everything was going fine until Jaina Proudmoore walked in, silencing the music as if her mere presence demanded it. She scanned the room with a cold gaze until her eyes landed on me. “What is that thing doing here?” she snapped, her voice filled with disdain.
Isirami, always quick with charm, tried to defuse the tension. “What are you drinking? First one’s on the house. Are you here for a special occasion?”
Jaina’s eyes narrowed, her hostility unmasked. “I asked you a question, wench.” Isirami stiffened at the insult, clearly fighting to keep her temper in check.
“She’s a member of the Silver Covenant,” Isirami said, her voice taut as the atmosphere grew heavy.
Jaina scoffed. “Do I need to remind you what I did during the Purge?”
Isirami sighed, grabbing a broom as she tried to focus on cleaning, her movements sharp and deliberate. “She wasn’t conscious during the Purge, but I saw what you did. We’ve been avoiding places you frequent, so why are you here?”
Jaina sneered, casting a disdainful look my way. “I heard there was one of you here. I had to see it for myself. That thing doesn’t belong here.”
“She can’t walk,” Isirami shot back, anger flashing in her eyes.
“That sounds like a Horde problem,” Jaina said dismissively. “I’m sure Garrosh’s shamans can fix it.”
“Garrosh was the one who crippled her,” Isirami replied, her voice breaking slightly.
Jaina laughed, a cold, mocking sound. “That’s a whole lot of that thing’s problem. I run this city, and what I say goes—”
She didn’t get to finish. In a split second, Isirami pulled a hidden blade from her broomstick and lunged, aiming for Jaina’s collarbone. A Silver Covenant guard caught her arm just in time, stopping her from making a fatal mistake.
“Isirami, drop it,” the guard ordered, his grip firm as he held her back.
Jaina had started to summon a frostbolt, but the intervention kept things from escalating. “If you have a problem, you can take it up with Vereesa Windrunner,” the guard said, his voice tense.
Jaina stopped her spell, glaring at Isirami, who reluctantly let the knife clatter to the floor. Her eyes then locked onto me, predatory and vengeful, like a lioness denied her prey. My heart pounded, and I could feel the blood drain from my face as sweat formed on my brow.
“If you cross me, ever, I’ll kill you where you stand,” Jaina threatened, her voice icy as she turned and left Hero’s Welcome.
As the tension finally broke, Isirami and the guard let out simultaneous sighs of relief. I reached out to her, pulling her into a tight hug, my emotions spilling over. “Don’t ever do something like that again!” I choked out, tears streaming down my face.
Isirami hugged me back, her voice soft but determined. “I told you I was going to help you get through this.”
“I was so scared; I couldn’t protect you,” I said, still holding onto her, unable to let go. In that moment, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the fear of losing her overwhelmed me. I realized how much she meant to me, how deeply I had come to rely on her.
I pulled back slightly, our faces just inches apart. Her eyes searched mine, and I could see the concern, the anger, the tenderness all mixed together. My lips parted, and before I could stop myself, I whispered, “Can I please kiss you?”
She hesitated, her eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, I thought she might pull away, that she’d remind me of all the boundaries we’d tried to set between us. But instead, she gently touched my cheek, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You want to go upstairs?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
I nodded, my lips trembling as I bit down nervously. “Please, I need your… support,” I whispered, glancing over at the guardsman who had just saved us. He blushed slightly and excused himself, sensing our need for privacy. Isirami and I shared a look of mutual understanding before heading upstairs, where we could find solace, if only for a little while.
As we climbed the stairs, I could feel my heart racing, not just from the fear of what had almost happened with Jaina, but from something else—something I had been trying to ignore for so long. There was a pull between us, a magnetic force that I could no longer deny. I needed her, not just for the comfort she provided, but for the way she made me feel alive, the way she made me forget the pain, if only for a moment.
When we reached the room, she closed the door behind us, and I turned to face her, my breath hitching as I met her gaze. There was a vulnerability in her eyes, a question that she didn’t dare voice. I stepped closer, my fingers brushing against her arm, and I could feel the tension between us, the unspoken words that hung heavy in the air.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I know I’m not what you want.”
She shook her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “You’re exactly what I want, Melfina. It’s been so painful to hide this from you,” she said softly. “But I know you’re scared. We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I just… I need you,” I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. “I don’t know what this is, or what it means, but I need you.”
She stepped closer, her arms wrapping around me, pulling me into a gentle embrace. “I’m here,” she whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And for that moment, it was enough.
Isirami’s presence was palpable, her touch soft but charged, hinting at a deeper connection that had been simmering between us. Even in public, her subtle, nurturing gestures had a way of disarming me, making me crave her attention like a lifeline. She told one of her assistants to close the bar, and we began our new kind of therapy—one fueled by unspoken needs, dulled senses from medications, and the closeness that made me feel safe.
For the first time, we were fully vulnerable, able to explore this unexpected connection with an intimacy that felt almost sacred. Her touch was gentle but deliberate, guiding me through stretches, helping me with my exercises, and always providing reassurance when I faltered. Each touch felt like a reminder that I wasn’t alone, that someone was there to help me gather the pieces of myself that had been scattered by pain and despair. Every movement was deliberate, and each moment together felt like a step towards reclaiming a part of myself I thought I had lost.
She took her time, and I allowed myself to let go, to feel safe in her arms. For a brief, shining moment, I felt whole—like the pieces of myself that had been shattered were being gathered back together by her hands. The weight of my worries faded, replaced by a warmth that spread from her presence, filling the emptiness I’d carried for so long.
But then, as the emotions overwhelmed me, I began to feel the effect of everything—the mix of vulnerability, the physical closeness, and the exhaustion. My body started to tremble, and I gasped for air, feeling lightheaded. Isirami’s face hovered close to mine, her hands steady as she checked my pulse, her brow furrowed in concern. I whispered weakly, “More.”
She hesitated, her eyes searching mine, and I saw the care behind her actions—the need to protect me, even from myself. She kept her touch careful and attentive, aware of my fragility but also drawn to the intensity of the connection between us. She whispered words of reassurance, her voice grounding me as I struggled to stay in the moment, to trust her fully.
In that moment, it wasn’t just about comfort—it was about trust, about giving myself over to someone who had proven time and again that she was there for me, even when I couldn’t be there for myself. And as I leaned into her, letting the last of my defenses fall, I realized that maybe, just maybe, this was the healing I needed most.
Every touch sent ripples through me, each wave of sensation mingling with the warmth of her presence. Even in my weakness, she seemed to know exactly what I needed. There was a quiet understanding between us—a delicate dance between comfort and care. As I reached the peak of my emotions, my body gave in, muscles tensing as if trying to hold onto the fleeting feeling of being free from pain, if only for a few moments.
I lay back, completely spent, my mind clouded and disoriented. For a moment, everything else disappeared. I felt connected, not just to her, but to something deeper, as if all the pain, all the struggle had led me to this fragile, fleeting peace. In her arms, I found a brief escape—a sanctuary where I could forget everything, even myself.
But when the haze began to lift, morning brought the inevitable crash. Pain returned, sharper than before, joined by the heavy weight of guilt and the exhaustion that clung to my bones. My body ached in ways I couldn’t explain, my lower half unresponsive and sore. Isirami woke beside me, her hands warm as they enveloped mine. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice filled with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I shook my head, blinking away the light that filtered through the window. “No, it was wonderful,” I assured her, though inside, I felt like I was crumbling. “But I think I’ll need the wheelchair today.”
She squeezed my hands tighter, bringing her lips close to my ear. “Whatever you need, I’ll get it. Whatever you want, I’ll bring it to you. Just… don’t leave my room today.” There was a tremor in her voice, a plea that was almost heartbreaking. “Or ever,” she whispered, her words both a command and a confession.
I couldn’t refuse her—not in that moment. I nodded, burying my face against her chest, drawn to her warmth despite the nagging voice in my head questioning everything. As she left me lying on the bed, she looked back with a soft smile, calling me a cutie, and I felt a brief flicker of joy, quickly snuffed out by the encroaching sense of despair. Alone in the quiet, the weight of it all pressed down on me. I needed her to be my source of love, relief, and protection, to make me feel whole.
“What did she do to me?” I thought, unable to shake the feeling that I was both saved and lost, trapped between gratitude and something much darker.
I can’t describe how relieved I was when she came back—how much her face, her voice, made my hands reach out to her like magnets. We both knew that the previous night had been a setback, but when she returned, we spent most of the time just kissing and holding each other. It was tender, comforting, yet it left me burning with desire. Still, like a stern guardian, she gently but firmly steered us away from anything more, despite the longing that simmered between us. I bit my lip, trying to make her see just how much I craved more, but she held firm to her promise—not just that day, but on all the days when I needed her most.
I nodded, smiled softly, and held her hands, pressing gentle kisses to them. “I need you… I want you… So please don’t leave me,” I whispered, surrendering to her guidance, even if it left me feeling a little incomplete.
She kissed me on top of my head, “Never.”
One day, Vereesa Windrunner stopped by Hero’s Welcome and found me at the bar. It was a busy afternoon, and she approached, tapping me on the shoulder. “Hi… Perfectia, was it?” she asked, her voice tentative.
Isirami, who had been more on edge than usual, immediately moved closer, her protective instincts flaring. I had noticed that she’d been more watchful lately, almost fiercely so, and I hated seeing her like that. Even though she still moved with that effortless grace, still shone brightly and commanded the room’s attention, her spark had dimmed. She was like a goddess most of the time—radiant, confident, someone who deserved every luxury in the world. But lately, something in her had changed.
“It’s Melfina,” Isirami interjected sharply from behind the bar, her voice cutting through the noise as she positioned herself beside me, ready to shield me from whatever might come next.
Vereesa looked at Isirami, her expression a mix of anger and confusion. I gave Isirami a gentle shake of my head and turned to Vereesa. “Can I help you with something?” I asked, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.
Vereesa’s eyes swept over the bar, lingering on the crowd of Alliance patrons. It was clear she was puzzled by my presence as the only Horde member there. I wasn’t hiding who I was anymore. She hesitated before speaking, her gaze locking onto my now-green eyes. “I remember you from before… Your eyes were blue. You must know about the Purge.”
Isirami’s voice cut through sharply, defensive. “We hid her during that whole mess. No thanks to you.”
Vereesa flinched at the accusation but didn’t back down. “I didn’t come here to kick you out, but Jaina saw you and she’s not happy.”
I nodded, recalling the tense encounter. “Yeah, she called me ‘that thing’ and your guards told her to take it up with you.”
Vereesa chuckled lightly, though it was tinged with bitterness. “I guess she didn’t get over it. So why are you still here?”
I glanced between the two of them, feeling the tension rising. “Do you want me to leave?”
Before Vereesa could respond, Isirami stepped closer, protective and unyielding. “This is Hero’s Welcome. She’s not going anywhere unless she wants to. The Horde had to abandon Sunreaver’s Sanctuary, her doctor is here, and I’m helping her with physical therapy.”
Vereesa looked down, contemplating her next words. “Can I speak to her privately?”
I nodded, still needing Isirami’s help to move. “Isirami, can you help me? I’m still struggling with the stairs.”
As I grabbed my crutches, Vereesa watched, a mix of confusion and concern on her face. “I don’t understand. I sent you to a healer after—”
“It didn’t work,” Isirami snapped as she guided me up the stairs, supporting my weight. “She needed surgery.” She kept her grip on me, steadying me with each step. “Come on, Melfina.”
When we reached Vereesa’s room, Isirami helped me settle into a chair, ensuring I was comfortable before turning back to Vereesa. “Can I speak to her alone?” Vereesa asked.
Isirami glanced at me, and I nodded. “If you need anything, just shout. I’ll be right here.” She touched my nose playfully, a familiar gesture that always made me smile. Before leaving, she leaned in close to Vereesa and whispered, “If you hurt her…”
Vereesa raised her hands defensively. “I won’t.”
Isirami shot me one last reassuring smile before stepping out, and I smiled back, feeling a mix of gratitude and unease.
Once the door closed, Vereesa looked at me with a thoughtful expression. “She really cares about you, doesn’t she?”
I looked away, memories flooding back. “I started drinking here, got too wasted to leave one night, and ended up stuck in bed. Now, we just talk. We share a bed, and she helps take care of me.”
Vereesa’s brows furrowed slightly. “Are you two… together?”
I shook my head quickly, almost panicking. “No, no, she’s more like a nurse, helping me on behalf of Dr. Olissara. Nothing more.” I laughed awkwardly, feeling exposed. “Isirami suggested some physical therapies to help me… get back to normal. It’s all about me recovering.”
Vereesa nodded, still eyeing me closely. “Well, it seems like you’ve made some friends here.” She sighed, her tone turning serious. “But you were a spy, Perfectia.”
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of my past. “I know.” I looked up at her, biting my lip. “Did you come here to tell me to leave?”
Vereesa hesitated, then shook her head. “No, I’m not here to force you out. I just… Jaina’s reaction worried me. But if you’re here because you want to be, then it’s your choice.”
I sighed deeply, my thoughts wandering back to Isirami. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble. I’ve been thinking about returning to Silvermoon, but I can’t ask Isirami to follow me. She doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my mess.”
Vereesa nodded thoughtfully. “The Horde’s got a lot to rebuild. You’ve probably heard about Garrosh’s arrest?”
I nodded. “Yeah, everyone’s been talking about it. I’m just surprised they didn’t execute him.”
Vereesa’s eyes darkened. “If I’d been there, he wouldn’t have walked away alive.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at her statement.
She caught my reaction. “What, you were thinking of taking Garrosh on by yourself?” she asked, a hint of incredulity in her voice.
I laughed off her question, brushing it aside. “Is there something you actually need?” I pressed, trying to steer the conversation back.
She nodded, getting right to the point. “I need you to promise that you won’t speak at Garrosh’s trial. And… Aethas Sunreaver wants to offer you his sincerest apologies.”
I looked away, shaking my head. “You really think I’m going to rat you out?”
She shrugged, her expression serious. “Thanks to Isirami, everyone in the Silver Covenant knows what went down when Garrosh showed up with that bell. From the way she talks about it, it’s clear she was there.”
“She was,” I confirmed, “but she stayed hidden.”
Vereesa continued, her voice heavy with regret. “What you don’t know is that Aethas Sunreaver agreed to take the fall. After everything that happened… he told me to assure Jaina that the Silver Covenant had no part in it. If blame was to be placed, it should land on the Sunreavers.”
I scoffed, the memory of Aethas abandoning me still fresh. The idea of him doing something selfless was laughable. “You really expect me to believe that a coward like him—”
Vereesa cut me off, shaking her head. “He saved your life, remember? We both did. And he knows how disgracefully he acted, letting Garrosh do what he did to you. I won’t defend his cowardice, but he did try to make amends. It was his men who helped move that bell, and he told me to lie to Jaina.” Her voice faltered as she looked away, her eyes clouded with bitterness. “I lied for him, and now I see the consequences of crossing Jaina Proudmoore.”
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the pain was palpable. “The things I’ve seen… the camps, the starving, desperate blood elves turning into Wretched. It’s nothing compared to the corpses I’ve had to step over, even children.” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she struggled to keep her composure. “I had to carry it out, knowing that if Jaina found out the truth, my people would be the next ones in chains.”
She paused, wiping her eyes. “Jaina’s a monster, but her focus is on the trial now. I’m planning to get as many of our people out as I can. That’s where you come in. I need you to get a message to Lor’themar Theron when you visit the Sunwell. Tell him I’ve changed my stance, and I’m working to free as many blood elves as possible. In return, he needs to release his Kirin Tor members.”
I shrugged, feeling the weight of her request. “Why not just tell him the full truth about what happened?”
She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “If Lor’themar hears the truth and decides to use it against Aethas, you know he’ll twist it to his own advantage. He’s been itching for a way back into the Alliance. And if, by some miracle, Jaina believes him, it’ll set off a chain reaction that no one can control. It won’t just be about Garrosh anymore—it’ll be a bloodbath.”
“You know, even when Jaina changed her hairstyle, she still seemed like she had kindness in her,” I began, my voice heavy with frustration. “But when I woke up from my coma, I saw it—she walks around here like a schoolyard bully. I don’t know what her problem is, but she doesn’t know what it feels like to lose everything.” I looked down, feeling a pang of sympathy for her, but not for the reasons everyone else might think. Every time her name was mentioned, it was always tied to the Bombing of Theramore Isle, her personal traumas, and her tragedies. But to me, Jaina’s suffering seemed self-inflicted, fueled by her need to blame anyone who didn’t conform to her worldview of perpetual victimhood. She didn’t understand how precarious life was, how quickly it could all be taken away, and how precious it was just to be alive and see the sky. I shrugged slightly and asked, “Do you like living in fear like this? Here?”
Vereesa glanced around, her eyes darting nervously. “No, I don’t. But I think you care about us. My people, even without my knowledge, have taken a liking to you. And I don’t think you want to see us suffer because of it. I just need you to promise that you won’t say anything.”
I nodded, considering the Silver Covenant’s support after Oranio’s death and throughout my therapy. “I don’t care much for Jaina, but if she found out what really happened, I’d be in just as much trouble as you.” I glanced down, remembering the last time Jaina had stared at me with those cold, unforgiving eyes. “Isirami has been protecting me from Alliance members, but Jaina… she made it clear she doesn’t want me here.”
Vereesa’s expression tightened with anger. “I’ll speak to her. She owes me a favor.”
I nodded, feeling a small wave of relief. “One more thing—I want to be at Garrosh’s trial. For what he did to me… and for what he did to Oranio.”
Vereesa’s expression shifted to confusion, then sympathy. “Right… I’m sorry. You were there when he died. Did he say anything? Any last words?”
The memory hit me like a tidal wave, and my heart clenched. “I love you,” I whispered, my voice breaking as tears welled up in my eyes. I touched my stomach, the wound still fresh, both physically and emotionally. “I lost our child.”
Vereesa’s face twisted in shock and grief. She reached out, pulling me into a tight embrace. “Oh, you poor child,” she whispered, her voice trembling with compassion. I broke down completely, and she held me as I cried, her shoulder absorbing the weight of my pain as I let out everything I had been holding in for so long. For an hour, we stood there, bound by the shared sorrow of loss and the cruel twists of fate.
After a slow and painful recovery, I regained enough strength to travel, and eventually, we witnessed the devastation Garrosh had inflicted on Theramore. The scene was more harrowing than anything I had imagined. The once-thriving city was reduced to a wasteland of scorched earth, collapsed buildings, and the lingering echoes of its inhabitants’ final cries. The air still carried the acrid stench of destruction, and the sight of charred remnants—a child’s broken toy, a splintered shield, a scorched book—brought me to a place of utter despair.
There was one moment that still clung to my mind, haunting me even in my sleep. Among the wreckage, I saw a small, makeshift memorial someone had left—flowers wilting under the ash, and a small note pinned with a crude dagger. The note was barely legible, but I could make out the words: For those we loved, and for those who still live. We must fight. It struck me then how fragile life was and how easily it could be swept away by the ambitions of someone like Garrosh. I realized that true strength wasn’t about power or conquest. It was about standing up against that darkness and protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves.
The weight of my own experiences fell upon me—my own losses, my pain, the people who had stood by me when I was most vulnerable. I vowed, then and there, to fight for the innocent, to stand against injustice, and to ensure no one else suffered as I had. I knew the cost of indifference. I knew how much it hurt to be powerless, and I refused to be that person ever again.
Summoning the Ashbringer became easier after that, even while I was still confined to a wheelchair. I could feel Alexandros Mograine himself, the legendary paladin, watching over me—a guiding presence that offered me comfort and strength when I needed it most. It felt as though, with every incantation and every burst of Light that I summoned, he stood beside me, his spirit intertwining with mine, willing me to persevere. The Ashbringer was more than a weapon; it was a connection to the lineage of paladins before me. In those moments, I could feel the unity of purpose—the unwavering dedication of those who had wielded the power of the Light to protect, to heal, and to fight against evil.
Even though I was in a wheelchair, I was still a paladin. My body may have been broken, but my spirit remained steadfast. The Light responded to my will, and the Ashbringer, glowing in my hands, was a reminder that true heroism was forged in moments of weakness, not just in feats of strength. When I cast my spells, I could feel the power surging through me—not for destruction, but for protection. The wheelchair didn’t matter. I could still heal the wounded, I could still call down the righteous fury of the Light to smite those who threatened the innocent, and I could still shield those who needed me.
One day, during a skirmish in the Isle of Quel’danas chaos erupted, I saw Isarami in danger. Without hesitation, I summoned the Ashbringer. Its weight felt almost nonexistent in my hands as I guided its destructive power toward our enemies, the Light enveloping me in a protective glow. Alexandros Mograine’s spirit seemed to stand behind me, his strength flowing through me as I wielded the blade. Even in a wheelchair, I fought—not for glory, not for revenge, but for the people I loved and for those who needed my protection. The Light had chosen me, and as long as I could still breathe, I would wield it with everything I had.
When the Siege of Orgrimmar began, I chose not to participate. I had my reasons—I was still recovering, and after witnessing Jaina’s actions during the Purge of Dalaran, I refused to let anger or vengeance consume me. I didn’t want to become a hollow reflection of the hatred I fought against.
Isirami stayed by my side through it all, even pushing me around in my wheelchair during Garrosh’s trial. As we entered the grand chamber, the sight of Garrosh Hellscream—once the mighty Warchief, now bound in chains—filled me with a mix of emotions I struggled to untangle. He sat there, his expression defiant, as if he still believed in the righteousness of his actions. The chains seemed almost insufficient to contain his arrogance, and seeing him like that ignited a fury deep within me. I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the tremors that ran through my body, a reminder of the power he had stolen from me and the pain he had caused.
Watching him in chains should have been a moment of vindication, a moment where justice was finally being served. But instead, I felt hollow. No amount of punishment could ever bring Oranio back or undo the suffering Garrosh had inflicted upon so many. My eyes narrowed as I focused on him, imagining the countless lives shattered by his ambition—Oranio, the child I lost, the people of Theramore, the Sunreavers. He had torn families apart, and now here he was, sitting before us, unrepentant.
As I listened to the recounts of his heinous crimes, the rage simmered within me like a boiling pot. Each testimony felt like another blow to my chest, the voices of those who had suffered under his rule echoing my own pain. I wanted to stand, to scream at him, to make him understand the magnitude of what he had done. But what disturbed me even more was the silence surrounding Jaina’s actions against the Sunreavers. Her sins were buried beneath Garrosh’s shadow, conveniently ignored in the name of “greater justice.” My hands gripped the armrests of my wheelchair until my knuckles turned white, and I found myself struggling to keep my composure.
As we passed by Jaina during the proceedings, her gaze would briefly flicker to me, her eyes holding something that looked almost like sympathy. It twisted my stomach, an unwanted reminder of her own role in the chaos. She had her reasons, I knew that—Theramore was gone, and she had suffered her own losses. But it didn’t erase what she had done, and it certainly didn’t absolve her of the blood on her hands. How could she look at me with sympathy when she, too, had committed her own atrocities? It was as if she saw me as another victim of Garrosh’s madness, but I couldn’t ignore that she had created victims of her own.
I felt Isirami’s hand wrap around mine, and I held on tightly, my emotions threatening to spiral out of control. “Don’t, please don’t,” I would whisper, feeling my anger boil beneath the surface, my voice trembling as I fought to keep from breaking down.
“She’s not going to do anything,” Isirami would reassure me, her calm presence a tether that kept me from losing myself in the chaos of it all. Her words were a reminder that this wasn’t the time for vengeance—not here, not now.
When Baine took the stand, his voice resonated through the chamber, speaking of redemption, of allowing Garrosh the chance to change. I wanted to scoff. Redemption? Forgiveness? How could anyone speak of forgiveness for a monster like him? Garrosh didn’t deserve it, not after everything he had taken from me—everything he had taken from so many. My heart clenched as I thought of Oranio, of the life we could have had if not for Garrosh’s cruelty. The anger burned bright, urging me to reject Baine’s words, to demand justice, to demand retribution.
But something in Baine’s voice—a kind of quiet sorrow, a longing for peace—struck a chord within me. He spoke not just of Garrosh’s crimes but of the hope for a world where hatred didn’t beget more hatred. It was a difficult truth to swallow—that sometimes the hardest thing wasn’t seeking vengeance but allowing those who had wronged you to live with the weight of their actions. Allowing them to face the consequences without giving in to the cycle of violence. A part of me hated that I understood what Baine was saying, that I could see the humanity in his plea.
I felt a tear escape down my cheek, and I quickly wiped it away, hoping no one noticed. I wasn’t ready to forgive Garrosh—I would probably never be ready—but perhaps, in that moment, I understood that killing him wouldn’t bring me peace. It wouldn’t erase the pain or fill the emptiness left by those I had lost. The anger I carried would still be there, and vengeance would never be enough to fill that void.
As the trial continued, I watched Garrosh’s face—still filled with defiance—and I realized that true justice wasn’t about punishing him. It was about making sure his legacy didn’t define us. It was about rising above the darkness he had brought into our lives and finding a way to protect the innocent, to fight for something better. Even in a wheelchair, I could still wield the Light. I could still fight for what was right. And maybe, just maybe, that was the only justice that mattered.
The trial had barely concluded when chaos erupted. The invasion of alter egos—the twisted versions of ourselves from parallel worlds—began, tearing the peace of the courtroom apart. The once orderly hall became a battlefield, and the air filled with shouts, screams, and the clashing of steel.
It was then that I saw her—my own reflection staring back at me, except it wasn’t quite me. She had piercing blue eyes, the kind that glowed with the unnatural light of a Death Knight. Her skin was pale, almost ashen, and she carried an aura of death that chilled me to the core. Her armor was darker, adorned with the skulls of her fallen enemies, and the greatsword she wielded was a weapon meant for harvesting souls. The sight of her filled me with a fear I hadn’t felt in years—a fear that this was what I could have become if things had gone differently, if I had let the pain and the grief consume me completely.
Imperfecta. The name came to me unbidden, like a whisper from the depths of my own fears. She was a version of myself that had given in to the darkness, that had embraced death instead of fighting for life. And yet, as I stared at her, I saw confusion in her eyes. She wasn’t attacking—not yet. Instead, she looked around, her gaze shifting from one person to another, as if she couldn’t understand why everyone was fighting. It was as though she was lost, trying to make sense of this strange world she had found herself in.
I felt a shiver run down my spine as our eyes met. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. I could see the pain in her gaze, the loneliness that mirrored my own. And I could see something else—a glimmer of recognition, as if she knew who I was and couldn’t quite reconcile it with what she was.
My breath caught in my throat, and I wanted to say something, anything, to reach her. But before I could speak, a familiar figure stepped between us, her blade held outward in a defensive stance. Isarami. She moved swiftly, positioning herself between me and Imperfecta, her eyes filled with both determination and fear.
“Stay away from her!” Isarami shouted, her voice sharp and unwavering. The blade she held glinted in the chaotic light of the courtroom, and she took a step forward, her stance protective.
Imperfecta’s eyes flickered from me to Isarami, and for a moment, I saw something almost like hurt cross her face. She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to understand why Isarami was standing against her. Her grip tightened on her sword, but she made no move to attack. Instead, she simply watched, her eyes filled with that same confusion, as if she couldn’t quite understand why she was being treated as an enemy.
“Come on,” Isarami urged, her voice lower now, meant only for me. “We need to get out of here.” She moved closer, her free hand reaching for me, her touch gentle but insistent.
I nodded, my heart pounding as I let her guide me away from the chaos. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Imperfecta, even as Isarami led me toward the exit. There was something about her—something that felt unfinished, unresolved. I could see the pain in her, the struggle that mirrored my own, and it terrified me. She was a reflection of everything I had fought against, everything I feared becoming.
As Isarami moved us away from the fighting, her blade still at the ready, I felt a pang of guilt. Imperfecta was me, or at least a version of me, and here I was, running from her. The fear in my heart was overwhelming, the fear that if I faced her, I would see a part of myself that I could never escape. But there was also a part of me that wanted to reach out, to try to understand her, to see if there was anything left of the person I could have been.
“Who is she?” Isarami asked, her voice tight as she glanced back at the chaos, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Imperfecta still standing there, watching us leave.
“She’s… me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Or at least, she could have been. If I had made different choices.”
Isarami looked at me, her expression softening for a moment before she shook her head. “Well, she’s not you now. You’re here, with me. And I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
Her words were a comfort, a reminder that I wasn’t alone. But as we made our way out of the courtroom, I couldn’t help but look back one last time, my eyes meeting Imperfecta’s once more. She was still standing there, her gaze following us, and for just a moment, I thought I saw something like longing in her eyes—a longing for something she had lost, something she could never have.
I turned away, my heart heavy, and let Isarami lead me away from the chaos. But even as we left, the image of Imperfecta’s face lingered in my mind—a reminder of the darkness I had escaped, and the fragile line that separated who I was from who I could have become.
Isirami was fond of how I looked, even before the changes to my body. She always treated me with tenderness, but our intimate moments were often strained—not because of a lack of love, but because of my limitations. Back then, I was confined to crutches or a wheelchair, and that powerlessness made every attempt at intimacy frustrating for me. Isirami could reach out, hold me, and initiate affection whenever she wanted, while I felt physically incapable of returning those advances the way I wanted to.
There were times when I longed to take the lead, to show her that I desired her just as much, but my body was too weak. Whenever I tried, Isirami would gently stop me, her eyes filled with worry as they flickered around, as if afraid someone would see us. She would always tell me to take it easy, to let her take care of me. And while a part of me cherished her protective nature, it also made me feel inadequate. It was as though I was stuck in this role—someone who was always cared for, but could never be the one giving care, could never be the one in control.
I remember moments when her kisses were soft, when her hands caressed my face, and I wished desperately that I could reciprocate, that I could hold her close without struggling to stay upright. Those moments left me with a mix of emotions: longing for her touch, frustration at my own limitations, and guilt for not being able to give her what she needed. I loved the feeling of being close to her, of her lips on mine, but I also hated the helplessness that came with it.
The more Isirami tried to show her affection, the more I felt that painful gap between what she could do for me and what I couldn’t do for her. It felt unfair—both to her and to me. I wanted to be her equal, to share the intimacy in a way that went both ways, but my broken body kept me from giving her the love she deserved. And every time I saw the way her eyes searched mine for reassurance, I could feel the weight of that unspoken disconnect pressing down on me.
Eventually, I was able to walk again—first with crutches, then without them, each step a victory I had fought tooth and nail to achieve. Reclaiming my independence felt like taking back a piece of myself that had been stolen. But my relationship with Isirami grew increasingly complicated. Whenever we found ourselves alone, especially in dark or secluded places, she would become eager, too eager, trying to push for intimacy when I wasn’t ready. I had to tell her to stop, sometimes even physically pushing her away.
It was always difficult, and I often forgot just how much stronger I had become. All the physical therapy had reshaped me—I was more muscular, my hips and rear fuller, my waistline more defined. But when I’d see Isirami undress, I’d notice the bruises I’d left on her, dark reminders of moments when I had lashed out, my strength overpowering her delicate frame. I tried to tell myself it was her fault for not listening when I asked her to stop, but the guilt gnawed at me relentlessly. Hurting her, even unintentionally, was a constant reminder that vulnerability didn’t prevent us from causing harm to the people we cared about.
There were nights when I’d lie awake, haunted by the bruises on her skin. I hated seeing her like that—how her once radiant glow seemed dulled, how her eyes, once bright with mischief, now held a cautious hesitance. It made me question myself: Was I losing control? Was I turning into someone who used their strength to hurt the people they loved? The thought terrified me.
One evening, after another awkward attempt at intimacy, I decided I needed to address it. We sat in her small room above the tavern, the air thick with unspoken tension. I took a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak.
“Isirami,” I began, my voice almost a whisper, “about the bruises… I’m so sorry.”
She looked at me, her eyes widening slightly in surprise, and then she shook her head, trying to brush it off. “It’s okay, Melfina. I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I interrupted, my throat tightening. “It’s not okay. I should have been more careful. I never want to hurt you like that. I see what it’s done to you, and it’s killing me inside.”
She was silent for a moment, her gaze dropping to the floor. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the hesitation. Finally, she looked up at me, her voice soft. “I know you don’t mean to. But sometimes… it feels like you’re still fighting something. And I don’t know how to help.”
I swallowed, the weight of her words pressing down on me. She was right. I was still fighting—fighting my own demons, my own past. I reached out, taking her hand gently, afraid of my own strength. “I don’t know how to fix this. I want to be close to you, but I’m scared. Scared of hurting you, scared of losing control.”
She squeezed my hand, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. “I love you, Melfina. I just want you to let me in, to let me help you.”
“I know,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m trying. But I need you to be patient with me. I’m not ready to give everything yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be. I just… I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
She nodded, her expression softening, and for a brief moment, there was a fragile understanding between us. “I can be patient,” she said quietly, her fingers brushing against mine. “Just promise me you’ll keep trying.”
I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. “I promise.”
In that moment, I realized that while I couldn’t change the past, I could work on being better—on controlling my strength, on learning to be gentle.
One night Isirami led me to the spot where I had given my virginity to Oranio, a place filled with memories I wasn’t ready to confront. One evening, after yet another failed attempt at intimacy, I finally spoke up. My voice was barely above a whisper, tight with emotion. “I’m sorry, Isirami. I don’t mean to hurt you… I just… I’m not ready.”
She looked at me, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. “I know, Perfectia,” she said softly, reaching out to touch my hand. “I just… I want to help you. I want you to be happy again.”
“I need time,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “And I need you to be patient with me.”
She nodded, her fingers gently squeezing mine. “I will be. I promise.”
For a moment, I allowed myself to believe her. But then, she began to try and undress me, her hands fumbling at my clothes with a kind of desperate eagerness.
I grabbed her wrists gently, trying to stop her without hurting her. “I said stop!” My voice was firm.
She laughed softly, her tone confused by my resistance. “Come on, Melfina, you told me about this place. No one will hear us; you can scream as loud as you want.”
I shook my head, looking down at the ground. “That’s not what this place is for,” I said softly. “I don’t think I need you to do that anymore. It hasn’t hurt the last few times, so…”
She stepped back, her hands falling to her sides. “You’ve always called it ‘that.’ Why don’t you just say what it is?”
I took a deep breath and shrugged. “Therapy?” I said, though even I knew it was a weak response.
She crossed her arms, frustration flickering in her eyes. “We’ve been making love, Melfina. You know how I feel about you, right? This isn’t just therapy to me.”
I did know, but I’d been hoping we wouldn’t have this conversation. Anger flared inside me—not at her, but at the situation. “You can’t replace him, Isirami,” I said, my voice cracking. “I still love him.”
Her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing. “He’s dead, Melfina. You weren’t even at his funeral. Have you visited his gravestone?”
I looked away, my chest tightening. “You know I’m not allowed on the Exodar.”
She shook her head, her voice tinged with disappointment. “You haven’t even tried. You’re so selfish, you know that? I thought you were moving on, forgetting about him. You were just using him, weren’t you?”
Her words cut deep, and I felt my own shame twist into anger. “I don’t love you, Isirami!” I shouted. “And I always think about him when… when we’re together.” I paused, struggling to find the right words, but all that came out was, “Maybe you should get some help.”
She let out a bitter laugh, a twisted, almost sinister sound. “I see the Alliance’s values have rubbed off on you. You love me, Melfina. You’ve said it before.”
I rolled my eyes, frustration boiling over. “Was I high on anesthesia? Drunk? On meds?”
She stared at me, her voice low and strained. “I’ve been a bartender since Dalaran floated in the air. I’ve heard confessions from people, things they never meant to say, but the truth always slips out. I thought if I brought you here, sober, we could make love, and I’d tell you that I love you too.” Her voice wavered. “But you’re too selfish, too scared of shame, to admit what’s really going on inside you.”
I crossed my arms defensively, feeling cornered. “Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself? I didn’t know about your preferences until I started sleeping in your bed. Have you ever tried being with a man? It’s not bad. Maybe we could invite someone—”
“Don’t, Melfina!” she shouted, her voice breaking, filled with raw pain. “You have no idea how disgusted I am with the idea of penetration, with what everyone expects me to be. I’m over 200 years old, and I’ve always felt this way. I am so tired of feeling guilt for being attracted to who I desire and disgusted with who I’m supposed to desire. I thought maybe, because you were young and didn’t grow up in High Elf society, you’d understand. That you hadn’t been poisoned by our culture’s expectations.”
Her words hung heavy in the air, and I felt the weight of everything unspoken between us. My anger drained away, leaving only an aching sadness. I had never really understood her struggles—not truly. I had been so caught up in my own pain, my own grief, that I hadn’t realized how much she had sacrificed for me, how much of herself she had given without asking for anything in return.
I reached out, my hand trembling as I touched her arm. “Isirami, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
She looked at me, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity, Melfina. I need you to be honest with me. I need to know if there’s a future for us, or if I’m just fooling myself.”
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can ever love you the way you want me to. But I care about you. I need you. I don’t want to lose you.”
She closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I need more than that, Melfina. I deserve more than that.”
I nodded, my heart breaking as I realized the truth of her words. She did deserve more—more than I could give her, more than I was capable of offering. And maybe, just maybe, it was time I stopped being so selfish and let her go.
I looked down, feeling the sting of my own words. “No, I mean it. I’m sorry about what I said earlier—about telling you that you needed help. I do love you, but not in the way you want me to. I never meant to hurt you.”
She looked away, bitterness etched across her face. “You’ve been pushing me away ever since you started getting better. Now that you don’t need me anymore, you’re just going to throw me aside, after everything I’ve done for you.”
“I know,” I whispered, stepping closer, wrapping my arms around her. “I don’t want to lose you. I still want us to be friends.”
I felt her tremble in my embrace, her voice breaking. “But I love you so much.”
“I know,” I said, resting my head against hers, feeling the painful gap between us widen.
She gave a bitter laugh, pulling away slightly to look at me, her eyes filled with hurt. “You know?” she repeated, disbelief twisting her features. “Let go of me.”
I held on tighter, my heart aching. “Isirami… you know I can’t—”
“I SAID LET GO OF ME PERFECTIA!” She screamed and she kneed me in the groin.
I fell on my knees and grabbed myself and I felt the sharp pains in my hip’s bones again. “Serves you right.” I heard her say and started to walk away.
“ISARAMI! HELP ME! I CAN’T MOVE MY LEG’S!” I screamed as loud as I could.
“Oh no.” I heard her say to me, “No, no, no, I’m so sorry Melfina.”
Caught off balance, I stumbled backward, pain flaring up in my hips as my old injuries protested. I tried to steady myself, but the sharp agony in my legs made me collapse onto my knees. I gasped, the pain blinding me, paralyzing me on the spot. “Isirami, please…” I called out, my voice trembling. “I can’t move… I need help.”
She stopped, her face stricken with regret, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “Oh no, Melfina, I’m so sorry.” She rushed back to me, her hands hovering as if afraid to touch me, her voice frantic. “I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”
Every touch only made the pain worse, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. “I need help,” I choked out, my breath shallow.
She nodded, panic in her eyes as she looked around helplessly. “I’ll go get help,” she whispered, her voice breaking. She turned and ran, leaving me lying there, my body wracked with pain and my heart heavy with everything unsaid.
It felt like an eternity before help arrived—griffons carrying healers from Dalaran. They found me where she had left me, carefully lifting me, their magic easing some of the pain as they rushed me back to the city and to my doctor.
And as they carried me away, I couldn’t help but feel the hollow ache of what I had just lost—an emptiness that no amount of healing could ever fill.
They cut my pants off, and Dr. Olisarra began to examine me, pressing gently around my hips. “It’s not as severe as before. We can try a healing spell,” she said, motioning to a Night Elf druid.
The druid’s hands glowed with a soft green light, and as she channeled her energy, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, a sensation I hadn’t experienced since my days adventuring in Northrend. It reminded me of those times when a healer’s magic would pull me back from the brink, ready to jump back into the fray. I realized then how much I missed it—the thrill of battle, the sense of purpose.
Dr. Olisarra conducted a few tests, checking the flexibility and strength of my hips and legs. But when she applied pressure, the pain was sharp, and I couldn’t hold back a scream. She sighed, her expression heavy with concern. “That’s what I feared.”
I looked up at her, worry gnawing at me. “What’s wrong?”
“The good news is we can discharge you. You should be able to walk, run, and function normally again,” she began, hesitating before looking away.
“And the bad news?” I asked, my heart sinking.
“The bad news is that your hips have too many microfractures, and they’re too large for your frame. Your body can’t build the muscle or fat needed to cushion you if you take a hit. We could try to repair your hips again, but if you get injured out there, you could be putting your life—and your party’s lives—at serious risk.”
I let out a strained laugh, trying to mask my fear. “All this because of a few strikes with an axe?”
She looked at me with a pained expression. “You know you were pregnant for a while, right?”
I nodded, my heart sinking as the reality hit me. It was the first time I truly understood the full cost of what had happened to me, and the weight of it all threatened to drown me.
Cadence sighed, her expression heavy with the weight of past decisions. “Velen had to make a choice—save your life or the child’s. Even if you were in perfect health, birthing a Draenei half-breed would have been nearly impossible for you. I remember seeing you four months in, and it was clear the baby was too big for your body. So, it wasn’t just the strike from Gorehowl; the child was slowly killing you, making it impossible for your hip bones to heal properly. We had to make tough decisions during reconstructive surgery, and preserving your reproductive organs while repairing everything else was… beyond us at that time.” She glanced away, rubbing the back of her neck. “There were complications—fevers, tissue damage… a list of issues that I barely understood myself. At one point, I didn’t think you’d survive. But you did, in spite of all the mistakes I made.”
I rolled my eyes, frustration bubbling up. “I’ve been stuck like this for nearly two years because you and Velen couldn’t do your jobs right? Anduin Wrynn was crushed and somehow got back on his feet without a scratch. And you’re telling me I’m unfixable? I had a feeling I might be pregnant, but I wasn’t sure, and all I wanted was for you to save my child.”
“I TRIED!” she yelled, her voice breaking. “Velen did what he could, but let’s be honest—he didn’t care about you. He cared about Anduin. He made sure I didn’t mess up with him, trained me over and over so I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. And every time you come in here—for more pills, for therapy, for whatever that witch did to you—I’m reminded of my failures. I’ve hated you every single time.”
I looked away, feeling the sting of her words. “Your relationships are your own, but I’ve been too paralyzed by my own shortcomings to do anything. When you were brought in, torn apart, all I could do was keep you alive and wait for Velen. I was scared to try and even more afraid to fail. And I did fail. Every time I see you, it’s a reminder.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I hate you so much.”
The room was silent except for the sound of my own ragged breathing. For a long moment, I couldn’t speak. I wanted to lash out, to tell her that it wasn’t my fault, that I never asked for any of this. But the look in her eyes, the pain and regret that mirrored my own, stopped me.
I swallowed, my throat tight as I forced myself to meet her gaze. “I didn’t ask for any of this either,” I said, my voice low, almost a whisper. “I know I’ve been a burden, and I’m sorry for that. But I lost something too. I lost everything I thought I’d have, and I’m still trying to figure out how to live with that.”
She looked away, wiping at her eyes, her shoulders slumping. “I know. And I hate that I can’t do more for you. I hate that you’re a reminder of all the things I couldn’t fix.”
Her words hit me like a physical blow, but instead of sparking my anger, they stripped away the defenses I had built around myself. For the first time, I saw her not just as the healer who had failed me, but as someone who had her own demons, her own regrets. And maybe, in some small way, that made the burden we both carried a little lighter.
“I don’t hate you, Cadence,” I said quietly. “I just… wish things had been different.”
She nodded, her expression softening, and for a moment, there was a fragile understanding between us—a shared acknowledgment of loss, regret, and the painful reality that we couldn’t change the past, only try to live with it.
I pulled her into a hug as she cried, whispering, “I’m sorry, Cadence. I know you’ve done your best.” I kissed the top of her head, trying to comfort her. “Just keep doing what you can. If you have to turn my lower body into a Mechanostrider, I’d be okay with that.”
She laughed through her tears, her body shaking in my arms. “I don’t think it’ll come to that." She hesitated, her eyes flicking away, as if searching for courage. "Velen gave me ancient texts from Argus, but their tech doesn’t exist here. I’ve been looking at similar tomes from Karazhan, using magic to fill in the gaps.”
I held her close, feeling the weight of both our hopes pressing down on us. “Do whatever it takes.”
She pulled back, her eyes locking onto mine, determination replacing the despair. “I’ll fix you. I’ll make it my life’s work if I have to. But it’s risky. Reforming your pelvic bones means breaking them again, and there are arteries…”
She trailed off, her gaze growing distant, lost in thought. I watched her, the tension in her face slowly melting, a hint of a smile curving her lips. There was something almost beautiful about the way her eyes lit up when inspiration struck.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, a flicker of curiosity cutting through my own fear.
After a long pause, she finally answered, her tone almost excited. “I just had an idea. What if instead of breaking and reforming, we build around it? We could inject your glutes with protein and redistribute body fat to your buttocks. It would add protection for your arteries and give you more stability. You’d need to exercise a lot, and you might look a little… different.”
I glanced down at my legs, then back up at Cadence, feeling a mix of anticipation and fear. The idea of finally standing strong again, of being able to fight… It sparked something inside me that I hadn’t felt in years. A need to be more than this broken version of myself. To be who I once was.
“I’ve always been told my hips were wide for an elf,” I said, a faint smile playing on my lips.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, almost panicking. “No, this isn’t just wide—this will be huge. You’re going to look… different. Freakishly big, even. And even after you recover, you might look strange for the rest of your life.”
I nodded eagerly, my heart pounding with hope. “But I’ll be able to fight again, right?”
Cadence hesitated, her expression softening as she studied me. I could see the fear there, the worry that she might fail again, but beneath it, there was a spark of belief—belief in herself, and maybe even in me. “Yeah. There was a similar procedure I did for Anduin, but this… this will be different. I think with some modifications, and trusting my instincts… we can make it work."
I smiled, a sense of determination washing over me. My hands clenched, not from pain, but from resolve. Fighting was more than just a physical act. It was who I was. “Do whatever you need to.”
As I looked into Cadence’s eyes, I saw her expression shift from doubt to something more—a fragile hope that mirrored my own. For a brief moment, I imagined myself standing again, blade in hand, and I knew that no matter how different I looked, no matter how monstrous the changes, it would be worth it.
The next evening, after everything that had happened by the lake, Isirami and I found ourselves alone, the air between us heavy with unspoken tension. She laid beside me, her gaze averted, and I could feel the unease radiating off her. I had been waiting for her to say something, to break the silence that had stretched between us since that moment.
Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Melfina, there’s something I need to say. And I don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive me for it.”
I looked at her, my heart pounding. “What is it?” I asked softly, already sensing the weight of her words.
She took a shaky breath, her eyes welling up with tears. “When I… when I injured you by the lake, when I lashed out… I realized something terrible about myself.” She turned her head, meeting my gaze for the first time, her expression filled with self-loathing. “I felt relieved. Maybe even happy.”
The confession left me stunned, my throat tightening as I struggled to comprehend her words. “Relieved?” I echoed.
She nodded, her voice breaking as she continued. “Because, for a moment, I thought you might go back to being the broken, fragile person I fell in love with. The one who needed me so much.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she looked away, unable to face me. “I realized that I was a monster for feeling that way. For wanting you to stay weak just so I could keep taking care of you. And I think… I think that means we shouldn’t be together. I love you, Perfectia, but I’m scared I’m holding you back. That I’m hurting you more than I’m helping.”
Her words pierced my heart, and without thinking, I grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. “No, Isirami. Please don’t go,” I pleaded, my voice trembling. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not afraid. You made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you’re a monster.”
She tried to pull away, her eyes filled with pain, but I held her tighter, refusing to let her go. “Isirami, listen to me,” I said, my voice firm. “This is a good thing. We’re both learning. We’re both figuring out how to love each other, even through our flaws.” I took a deep breath, tears welling in my own eyes. “I’m going into surgery soon, and I won’t be as fragile as I used to be. I’ll be stronger, and I’ll be able to love you just as much as you love me. We’ll finally be equal.”
Her resolve seemed to falter, and she looked at me, her expression softening. Slowly, she leaned in, resting her forehead against mine. “You really think we can work this out?” she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of hope and fear.
I nodded, closing my eyes as I pressed my forehead against hers. “Yes. I love you, Isirami. And I want us to get through this—together.” It wasn’t the turth but it wasn’t a lie either. I believed in the future where we were together.
For a long moment, we stayed like that, our foreheads touching, our breaths mingling. And finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she whispered, “Okay. I’ll stay.”
A wave of relief washed over me, and I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. “Thank you,” I whispered, my heart aching with both love and hope for the future.
Instead of another painful surgery, Cadence put me through an experimental regimen. I spent weeks in the hospital, with Isirami hovering anxiously, apologizing a hundred times as I endured the treatment. My diet was changed to high-fat, high-sugar meals that felt almost sinful. The first few weeks were agonizing—unable to sit comfortably, every step a reminder of my altered body. But I used my magic to help ease the pain, and something incredible happened: the extra mass seemed to absorb healing magic better than ever.
As I began walking again, my new body took some getting used to. My rear felt tight and bouncy, and I struggled with balance as I bumped into doorframes, moved sideways through narrow spaces, and found myself running in an entirely new way. My hands no longer hung by my sides; instead, they rested awkwardly on my widened hips or stayed at rib level. The increased muscle mass, particularly in my hips, thighs, and rear, was a constant adjustment. I had to relearn how to move, to run, and even to fight. My posture had changed; every movement felt different. I couldn’t ignore the embarrassing sounds of my thighs clapping together if I wore anything loose. I remembered how I used to laugh at busty women who had to adjust themselves before a battle, and now I understood their plight.
I missed the sleek, nimble form I once had, but in exchange, I had been given something powerful. My body had become stronger, harder, capable of enduring what would have been unthinkable before. The enhanced muscles provided a new resilience, absorbing magic and physical damage in ways that went beyond just healing—they made me feel invincible, like I was a fortress unto myself.
Dr. Olisarra was attentive to every detail. She often brought me to troll spas where they worked on my body with methods I’d never experienced: pushing and pulling fat, using electrical stimulation on my muscles, and massaging my skin with thick olive oil. The trolls assured us that this was common practice for women who had undergone difficult childbirth, promising I would soon be running like before. Despite my initial discomfort, the treatments were oddly soothing, and the trolls’ expertise reassured both me and Cadence. She eagerly absorbed their methods, exchanging notes and shaking hands with every doctor and nurse, fully immersing herself in their world.
“I want you to look beautiful, Perfectia,” Cadence said one day, her voice filled with pride. “If you went outside looking like a freak of nature, it would ruin my reputation.”
She was dedicated to making sure I felt comfortable and confident. Whenever something didn’t feel right, or if the appearance wasn’t quite natural, she would make adjustments, either with injections or using the massage techniques she’d learned. During check-ins, I often felt like a sculpture being perfected, as she circled me, examining and touching with an artist’s intensity. It was embarrassing, but I could see how invested she was in her work. And, despite the oddities of my new body, I felt stronger—more capable than I had in years.
Cadence’s experimental procedure also altered my sense of strength and balance. Every step had a new sense of weight behind it, and I felt the power in each movement—whether it was just lifting something or practicing combat drills. I often had to remind myself not to overdo it, especially when training. My hips were heavier, wider, and I could feel the power in them when I twisted or struck. It wasn’t just my appearance that had changed—my whole body had become a tool of strength, and I needed to learn how to wield it properly.
She would sometimes show me anatomical diagrams, pointing out bones, muscles, and organs with excitement, explaining in intricate detail the benefits of each procedure. I mostly nodded along, not fully grasping the complexities but trusting her implicitly. She would look at me, her eyes searching for my understanding. “This will make you stronger,” she’d say. “Can I do it?”
I’d smile, shrug, and respond, “Sure.”
She’d pause, her expression serious. “It will be painful, and there’s a risk. You could… you could die. Are you sure you understand?”
I looked her in the eyes, my resolve unwavering. “I trust you.”
The result was clear—my body was different, drastically so. My hips had expanded beyond what was natural for an elf, becoming more akin to what I imagined a tauren warrior’s power would feel like. My thighs had thickened, and the muscles were rock-solid under my skin, supporting not only my altered bones but also adding a new sense of raw power to every movement. I was a different kind of warrior now—one who would stand unyielding in the face of any threat.
Cadence had even shaved my head at one point, claiming it was necessary for some kind of procedure. It wasn’t until later that I realized how the new dynamic had shifted between Isirami and me. Without my long hair, I felt a sense of rawness, a kind of dominance that was different from before, and Isirami seemed to sense it too. She had always been protective, but now there was a hesitance—like she wasn’t sure if I needed protecting anymore.
I think… I need to look and copy my medical records because I still don’t understand anything she wrote or when she said it to me beforehand, but she did shave my head at one point. Okay, let’s plagiarize my best friend’s medical writing. (The parts in parentheses are my own input on the subjects)
An intravenous drip is inserted into the subject’s arm, and a general anesthetic is administered to ease the subject into a state of unconsciousness. Once the subject had been sedated, she was transported to the Exodar where the surgical procedures were performed.
During the occipital capillary reversal, I cut out a small space in the skull, exposing the brain. I then performed a procedure to rearrange the capillaries in the occipital lobe of the left cerebral hemisphere of the brain. This redistribution of blood vessels boosts the flow of blood beneath the rods and cones of the subject’s retina. Once the surgery was complete, the piece of the subject’s skull that was removed in order to access the occipital lobe is repaired, and the subject’s head is bandaged.
(Holy cow dung did I really agree to brain surgery? You would think I would be smarter. Okay back to her writing.)
When the catalytic thyroid implant insertion surgery is performed on the thyroid gland, where an incision was made to the left thyroid gland large enough for the implant to knit; once done, the incision is closed up. The growth hormone is released and progressively works its way through the body, stimulating the regeneration of damaged skeletons and dramatic growth of muscle tissue.
As this takes place, muscular enhancement injections are administered throughout the subject’s body to aid the previous procedure. The serum that I designed is a complex protein that is injected intramuscularly that targets the intracellular molecular machinery to help increase muscle strength and endurance. Increasing the density of the connective tissues and fibers making tkconnecting tendons stronger and decreasing lactate recovery time. In order for muscles to graft on the damaged skeleton and micro fractured pelvic bones I needed to override the gdf-8 protein ‘Growth differentiation factor-8’. I need the serum to contain a chemical called pholestain. A protein that acts on the muscle cells and that inhibits myostatin, a protein that keeps muscles from developing past a certain size. This will let the subject’s muscle grow past the augmented bone in the damaged pelvis and protect her in future combat encounters. However, all the subjects’ muscles will grow significantly larger and more powerful than a normal elf. Exhibiting an enlargement of the muscle fibers to a level that might be considered “unattractive”. Further cosmetic surgery might be needed depending on the subject’s needs. Will be discussed when the need arrives. These procedures are for the subject’s capability to perform feats of strength and endurance better than a ten-millennium year old demon hunter or the warchief of the Horde that injured her in the first place. The subject will be able to recover from fatigue significantly faster than even the fittest of Azeroth’s warlords. No animal test subjects have survived these procedures and I have shown the subject other failed animal tests on horses, gorillas, and one human test subject that was facing execution. All dying from cardiac arrest (pain). The subject has a high degree of “trust” in me and believes she has a high enough pain tolerance and religious faith to survive any procedure. On a personal note: the subject is my best friend, and I can’t let her die without giving her a fighting chance. On another personal note: I want her to be able to fight all the people that wronged her. However, these two procedures are only a prologue to other augmentation procedures as the subject’s body begins to alter as a result of the previous procedure. If the subject survives the changes, the final part of the augmentation will be performed.
The next procedure the subject had to be conscious as to the demands of the troll shaman I employed. The subject’s nerves, while extremely good at transmitting chemical messages, still have physical limitations due to the extra body mass. Which means that the signals have a limit to how fast they can travel from the brain to the muscle. The average nerve conduction velocity for elves is 100 to 140 meters per second depending on age. However, the subject was 60 to 80 possible due to psychological issues, fel mana dependence, mana deprivation, or drug use, brain and muscle processing was delayed when I tested the subject. Ergo this procedure must be implemented. The dendrites of the nerve cell are extensions of the nerve cells that propagate the electrical chemical signals from the neighboring cells to the cell nucleus. They are infused with a nanoparticulate superconducting material that carries these electrochemical signals significantly faster than the dendrite on its own. The superconducting material is then aligned into a fixed ultrafine fiber within the dendrite via resonant electromagnetic fields. Once these connections have been made the remaining dendrite protoplasmic material is sculpted back, reducing the overall mass of organic material in favor of the superconducting fibers, but preserving the nerve cell nucleus axons and myelin sheaths. This is made highly evident by the void between the spinal column and the skeletal spine as this error would normally be filled to capacity with the spinal column. This augmentation is performed in the entirety of the central and peripheral nervous system with the exception of the brain. On top of this augmentation a genetic and molecular level alteration is made to the oligodendrocytes and schwann cells within the nervous system. This promotes the growth of myelin sheaths over the nerves and superconducting fibers thereby insulating the neural signals and speeding up their propagation still further. The result is an estimated nerve conduction velocity increase. After alterational bio-electrical nerve transduction the subject’s nerve conduction velocity increased to 240 to 360, the subject also developed a quick wit. On a personal note: I generally tolerated the subject out of guilt and duty, but I generally enjoy her company and sense of humor. However, there’s still one more procedure.
(I didn’t understand a word of that, while she was talking about it, when she was injecting my spine with serum, and talking to the trolls that were shocking my spine over and over again to the point I felt like my spine was on fire. The quick wit might have come from a self discovery that I had been turned into a bit of a masochist during this treatment, I ohed several times while being shocked and injected with the muscle stimulants. Dr. Olisara was telling the shaman that it’s normal to have muscle engorgement and ohed when the muscles grow so rapidly, like going through puberty again.
I don’t think I’ll ever understand that mumbo jumbo she just wrote or when she was saying it before. But I’m glad she generally enjoys my company.)
In my first attempts to preserve the fetus my subject carried; Velen showed me a bone grafting technique called carbide ceramic ossification. Without my knowledge he removed the growing fetus that would have clogged the subject’s lilac arteries that I closed up when the subject was first injured. However, due to my inexperience in these procedures the subject developed osteomyelitis (swelling of the bone) and the subject needed to be put into an induced coma to correct the defects. After several surgeries on the iliac fossa the subject was able to regain some mobility with crutches and painkillers. However, in my procedures on the Prince of Stormwind Anduin Wrynn I restored his entire skeleton with these techniques, and I learned that because Anduin Wrynn was still in adolescence, Velen had given him a catalytic thyroid implant that sped up his skeletal growth and recovery. As in pre and near post pubescent adolescence skeletal growth spirits would have caused irreparable bone pulverization or osteomyelitis. The subject has already survived three high risk surgeries that could have killed her or given her permanent physical defects. My confidence and burning curiosity of how much pain the subject can withstand is pushing me to try a new untested experiment. A highly skilled enchanter enhances ocean reefs that are usually subject to weapons and armor. “Enchanted Coral Ossification” I’m calling it, is performed last due to the aforementioned complications with post-grafting bone growth. This comprises exposing the skeletal structure, removing a small layer of surface bone (no more than 3% of the bone’s volume), and then bonding the shapened reef to the shell is applied to the surface bone material. This bonding is achieved through alchemical means to encourage natural bone integration and a tendency of the body to reattach the bone and coral if somehow separated. Once completed, the natural bonding of the skeleton to the enchanted coral continues to enhance the subject as it would armor and weapons, reinforcing the skeleton and giving it extremely high hardness and fracture toughness due to the enchantments. While other stabilizing and therapeutic procedures are performed.
(That I remember and it was excruciating regardless of how masochistic I thought I was, even with anesthesia it felt like my skin and bones were literally on fire. I remember waking up after that, screaming, “Put me back under! Knock me out please!” As it felt like all my bones were radiated.
And Dr Olisarra touching my face from on top of me saying, “If we give you any more anesthesia you’ll die. Just focus on the Light, it will heal you, remember?”
If there wasn’t so much healing magic to regulate my nerve fibers, I think I would have literally died from shock. But it also took a lot of breathing, motherly talking with Olisarra, and faith to push me through that whole day of pain. She stayed with me, just talking, we talked about Oranio, we talked about how this would be the last time I’ll suffer, and she told me I was her best friend. She read Twilight aloud, sang, anything to take my mind off reality. Through eight waking hours of excruciating pain, I realized the power of faith and the importance of focusing on the positive aspects of life, through love, humor, and companionship. I survived as each full body pain convulsion as they came in like ocean waves threatening and tempting me to go under the numbing submission of death. And I just refused to accept it, as peaceful as it seemed. What kept me alive was love, her love, the Light’s love.
And back to her writing.)
Once the augmentation procedures are finished, the subject begins a long recovery process. Smaller amounts of protein complex are continued to be injected intramuscularly to increase tissue density and decrease lactase recovery time. However, as I remember how coral effects swell lines of ocean waves, waves are created by massive open ocean swells and specific underwater topography that causes the ocean to morph into breaking waves and as an unexpected result the coral seems to have enhanced the subject’s blood flow, nerve signals, and immune system. I’m glad I followed my intuition and added the coral to all 20 major bones excluding the skull and jaw. However, the healing process still takes anywhere from weeks to months, depending upon the subject’s rate of recovery. Every day the subject will perform stretches, isometric exercises, selected weight training, light sparring drills, and consume five high-protein meals. After each meal, the subject must report to the medical clinic to receive a series of vitamins and enchanted injections depending on the subject vitals.
END QUOTE
I remember waking up on the Exodar once, only to find myself back in Dalaran at Dr. Olisarra’s clinic. Most of the cosmetic work was done in Karazhan, and I stayed conscious through most of the procedures. When I stepped outside the clinic, I felt a mix of shame and discomfort as people passing by looked at me, some even laughing. Dr. Olisarra brushed it off, telling me, “You look stunning. They’re just jealous. Besides, you could probably kick their—.”
Physically, I was stronger than I had ever imagined, but it was a strength that came with its own challenges. My reflexes couldn’t always keep up with my new body; cups and dishes would shatter in my hands from the slightest touch, and I’d often stumble or make exaggerated movements when caught off guard. There were days when my muscles throbbed so badly I needed ice baths, when headaches became a weekly ritual, and when my bones ached so fiercely that I had to constantly heal myself just to function.
On the bright side, I no longer understood the meaning of “too heavy.” Maces became my weapon of choice in Draenor, and with steel gloves, I could tear through rock with ease while mining. My skin, however, hadn’t toughened; I still felt every cut and bruise, but I was stronger, faster, and able to lift more than ever before.
I wouldn’t say I could beat Garrosh Hellscream in an arm-wrestling match, but I’m confident I could have killed him had I been like this back then. But then, none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been so thoroughly defeated. Dr. Olisarra pushed herself to master these procedures out of necessity, and it turned her from a basic First Aid instructor into a medical pioneer. I’ve even arm-wrestled Varok Saurfang a few times—usually winning the first round but losing the rest. The old orc knows how to tire me out with technique rather than brute force.
Isirami was fond of how I looked, even if my proportions had become a far cry from what they once were. My muscles had grown enormous, my body reshaped by procedures that had made me powerful but also different. She said she admired my strength, that I was even more beautiful now—but I could tell it wasn’t entirely true. Despite her reassurances, things were different between us, and not in a good way.
In our intimate moments, everything had become strained, awkward, and uncomfortable. I noticed how her hands would hesitate now, unsure of where to touch me, her fingers no longer able to find the same points of comfort. The gentle caresses that once felt like a soft balm had become fumbling attempts to connect with a body that had changed beyond recognition. The fullness of my hips, the sheer bulk of my muscles—things that I had seen as a symbol of my recovery—had made it difficult for her to navigate me as she used to. I often found myself lying on my back, unable to reciprocate in the way she wanted, my new strength overwhelming the tenderness we once shared.
When she said, “I love you so much,” I struggled to find the right words in response. Sometimes, I’d stay silent, other times I’d just say thank you, or try to redirect my focus to her, trying to give her some semblance of what we once had. But even then, the difference in our bodies, in our roles, loomed between us like an unspoken barrier. The new power I wielded allowed me to dominate her entirely, and for a moment, I thought that maybe that’s what she wanted. But every time I saw her pinned beneath me, her eyes wide with fear, the feeling of power twisted into something ugly—an unwelcome sense of guilt and shame.
Seeing her fear, I realized that I was never meant to be the one in control. I had always thrived on being vulnerable, on surrendering to someone else’s care and leading myself to those almost otherworldly heights of euphoria. Whether it had been Oranio guiding me through moments of love or Isirami being my sanctuary, I had found comfort in giving myself to someone. To wield power now felt wrong, almost like a betrayal of the person I once was. I was no longer the delicate, fragile woman who needed to be protected—and that change affected our relationship more deeply than I had ever imagined.
And let’s just say I didn’t help the situation at times. My sense of humor, awkward and often ill-timed, drove a wedge between us too. Sometimes I’d say things that killed her mood, I asked her if she was a carpenter, because she sure knew how to make this closet comfortable or teasing her that I might be pregnant again—words that had once been part of lighthearted banter now stung with unintended malice. One time, when we ate tacos, I told her I thought she would eat it from the top down, and she threw it in my face. I’d laugh, thinking we were still sharing the same playfulness, but each time I’d see her expression tighten, her smile fade a little more.
Isirami Fairwind was everything I needed when I was at my lowest. She wasn’t just a lover—she was comfort, she was healing, she was home when I had none. She held me through the worst of it, and for a while, I believed I could build a future with her. But as my body changed, so did the nature of our love.
Deep down, I always knew I’d have to leave. I knew she couldn’t come with me because what we had wasn’t the same, and the more we tried to hold onto it, the more it slipped away. We were two people clinging to a memory, unwilling to accept that the love we once knew had transformed into something different—something that neither of us could fully embrace.
One morning, she brought me new clothes, assuming she’d have to help me as usual, but I surprised her by dressing myself and walking without crutches. I went to my bank vault, donned my plate armor, and picked up a two-handed longsword. She looked me over and asked, “Where are you going? You reshaped your armor?”
I nodded. “I’m heading to the Caverns of Time. There’s an old friend I haven’t seen in a long while—he’s been covering my paladin duties since I started spying.”
"Protecto, your dragon,” she guessed correctly, but her voice held a tinge of jealousy.
“He’s not my pet. We just… work together,” I tried to reassure her, seeing the unease in her eyes.
“So, you’re going back to the Horde,” she stated, her tone heavy with resignation.
I only smiled and nodded.
“Can I come with you?” she asked, her voice tinged with desperation.
I sighed, looking down before shaking my head, “You know, I was kind of hoping if I ignored you, you’d just go away eventually.”
She frowned, not finding the humor in my words. “That’s not funny. What about your injury?” She hesitated, her voice quieter now, “Why? Why did you start thinking everything was so funny, Melfina? What happened to you was tragic.”
“I know.” I shrugged slightly, trying to brush off the weight of it. "The doctor said I can start healing myself now. The procedures made me more resilient. Remember my friend Vorioia?”
Isarami nodded slowly. “Yeah, the undead who could only say one word at a time.”
I chuckled softly. “Turns out she can speak again in Draenor, and now she won’t stop talking. The grunts are complaining, and she’s driving everyone crazy. She asked me to come to her garrison to help with some paperwork. It’s nothing serious.”
“But if you go back to the Horde, we’ll be enemies again,” she said, her voice rising, drawing glances from the nearby patrons. She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Please, Melfina, don’t go back to them. They hurt you so much… why would you ever want to go back?”
I looked away, feeling the familiar sting of conflict. "Melfina was just a cover name. My real name is Perfectia, and you know that. You once told me I could take the armor off. Were you afraid I’d put it back on?”
She looked at me, visibly confused. “You weren’t like this before.”
“I’ve never really been myself before,” I admitted. “I’m not bitter anymore, and I refuse to stay miserable. You knew me when I was a spy crawling out of a deep depression, crippled and mourning. I can’t stay in that place forever. I need to go where I can be of use, where people need me, where I can make a difference.” I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.
“You weren’t using me!” she called out, her voice breaking. I turned back, and she stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I’m sorry for guilt-tripping you. I know you feel guilty being with me because I love you and you don’t love me the same way.”
“I do love you,” I said, not whispering. “But we can’t give each other what we really want.”
She sighed, admitting something I never thought she would. “Dr. Olisarra told me to stop… doing those things to you. But I couldn’t.”
I shrugged, a bittersweet smile tugging at my lips. “It’s fine. I never wanted you to stop.”
“Then stay with me,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as she echoed something Oranio had once said to me. “I’ll make sure you never go hungry again. You can’t have children anymore, but we could still have something close to a family. But you won’t find what you’re looking for with a man.”
I nodded, “I know. I didn’t go through all these procedures to have children—I did it so I could fight. The Alliance doesn’t trust High Elves enough to let them in, especially not lesbian ones.” I finally said the word we were both afraid to say out loud. “So maybe think about which side you’re really fighting for.”
She shrugged slightly, her eyes wavering. “Just… don’t forget about me, okay?”
I smiled, nodded, and stepped closer, grabbing her face gently with one hand.
She tried to resist, pushing me back, “No, not here, not here.”
But I pulled her in and kissed her softly on the mouth, lingering for a moment. “Never. I’ll see you later,” I whispered, letting go.