The future appears not as impenetrable darkness nor as broad daylight, but rather in a hazy half-light... One in which we can descry the rough form of the nearest objects, and only vague outlines farther off. It is a realm of ghost images, doubtful possibilities and fearful imaginings. Sometimes a tragedy can bring on an entrance into the possibility of this word; coaching thought, making fears or hopes known.

The Matron Ka'vanth stared at the blood soaked floor, and the foaming brownish substance massing around her hand. She gripped a stained cleaning rag until her knuckles turned a bright white, scrubbing briskly until pain shot up her arm, and continuing on in spite of it. Through tear soaked eyes, the spot on the floor looked large, immense, much like the ache which made itself known in the pit of her chest.

The King and Queen were dead. The woman had lost one she considered as a friend. Lei'ursathdd knew not what to think, nor how to react, and if she had been able to look to her heart of hearts- past the impenetrable wall that blocked her now from reason- she would have realised that she was frightened. Not for herself, but for the future of her House in a kingdom that had hated them in the past. Gone were the two that had accepted them once more within Verminasia, and it was impossible to know where Ka'vanth now stood.

But the Matron could not place her finger on this. And so she was cleaning, obsessively scrubbing the floor and straining toward any thought that might bring her comfort. In a way the warmth of pain shooting through her arm was comfort, and so was having her hands covered with soaproot and water and blood.

As she worked, her mind drifted back to the previous night, and events that had ensued. Her daughter's face was there, and memories of tearing her own dress, binding Kaidra's arm. There also was the face of the elf who had harmed the child, his eyes wide and filled with madness.

With a note of pleasure, Ursah recalled the crack of his jaw under Nikerym's boot, and the delightful sensation she had felt herself when digging out his eyes. The elf had lasted longer than the Matron had suspected, perhaps driven by his madness, bearing pain and torture to a level that was almost impressive.

And then the Matron had ordered his death. And there was a bloodspot on the floor. And Kaidra had woke up screaming. And the stain was not coming out. And tears welled anew, because the King and Queen were still dead. Sometimes the world was a strange place, and moreoften than not it felt like things that should never happen did, and things that should happen were only dreams.

The Matron began scrubbing with vigor anew, tears and blood mixing on the floor.