what if i’m from outer space?
and i have fire in my bones and in my veins?i let it show and scare my suitors far away
leave them traumatized with visions of its glow behind my face
they say that god makes no mistakes, but i might disagreewhen i outstretch my empty hand
i watch them build society, domesticated land
it goes according to the plan
while thеy’re in paradise, i’m exilеd in the sandif everyone has someone, then the math just isn’t right
and i’m the only outlier, the lonely archetype
if everything is by design, well, i might disagree— darwinism
content warning
nsfw, sexually explicit content, depiction of self-harm
Chapter 3: fall in love…
Like her father, Maiev always had an eye for design. Before the Great Sundering, when the Grand Magistrix had decided to form waterways throughout Suramar City, Maiev’s father participated in the urban planning for the project. The bridge of which connected Suramar Palace to the Temple of Elune, in particular, was his crowning achievement—though, he was awfully humble about it. Never one to boast of his successes.
In that way, Maiev would never be like him.
She took after her mother, spitting pride into casual conversation as much as professional ones. As a lowborn kaldorei, Maiev was nothing without her achievements—a fact the prissy highborne residents of Suramar would never let her forget when she studied there. They, however, were all dead now whilst Maiev persisted, gazing upon her image in the mirror.
“Does it fit well, mistress?” Naisha questioned, standing behind the warden. “If there are any errors with the measurements, I will return to the blacksmith at once.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Maiev affirmed. She moved her head around, testing the weight of the plume attached to her new helm. While voluminous, it was surprisingly lightweight. Admittedly, however, Maiev hadn’t exactly envisioned thiswhen she’d submitted the design. “A bit dramatic, isn’t it?”
Naisha narrowed her gaze. “He said it was crafted from the mane of a turquoise courser.”
“And that’s why it’s so…thick?”
“I suppose,” her lieutenant replied, folding her arms over her chest. “Although, I must say, it is quite beautiful.”
Indeed, the plume resembled a long dark ponytail, though it appeared more similar to mortal hair than equine. Her own hair was braided and securely pinned to her scalp beneath the helm, something terribly unnatural to her. Maiev had spent her entire life with her hair pulled up high, its length cascading down her back and flowing behind her. If there were ever a time she felt unsightly, the sensation of her lustrous hair brushing against her neck would banish such petty worries.
Perhaps that was the reason she opted for the plume. As a priestess, her battle vestments had been versatile and elegant, befitting a sister of her status. They were her only claim to vulnerability, a stark contrast to every fierce thing she ever was. As such, they were revealing, exposing far too much of what could be exploited.
And she had outgrown them.
Her new set had been designed with modesty, full plate armor crafted of truesilver covering every inch of skin it possibly could. A broad set of pauldrons had been crafted with a crescent attached on the back, designed to break apart when in motion and magnetize together again once Maiev’s posture had been restored. With these pauldrons came an emerald green cloak, daggers resembling owl feathers lining the hem. The theme of this set was not entirely dissimilar to her moonblade, though she added a slight green hue to the silver plating to balance the gold accents. She wanted something opulent, but not ostentatious—sophisticated and timeless within its antiquity.
The helm was her favorite, even with its arresting plume. It resembled the face of a horned owl with cutouts for her eyes, ears, and mouth, and possessed two dull spikes shaped like feather horns protruding from each side of the helm, acting as additional armor for her long ears. Maiev had requested the helm be lined with green silk to absorb sweat and keep her skin cool, but it seemed the silver glow of her eyes refracted color in an awfully reminiscent way.
“My eyes are green.” It was a statement, purposely devoid of any implication. Maiev wouldn’t dare draw comparison to nor reference exactly who the color reminded her of—no, none of that. A mere observation, that’s all it was and all it would be.
And yet, Naisha held the countenance she always did whenever he was mentioned.
“They are,” she said cautiously, “quite menacing.” She licked her lips, eyes shifting as if navigating a treacherous path. “Mistress, are you sure you’re—?”
“What of Califax?” Maiev cut Naisha off, adjusting her bracers. “Has he departed for the surface yet?” After thousands of years together, there was no one who could read between Maiev’s lines the way Naisha could. Her lieutenant would never dare push nor pressure her. Not out of fear, but rather, out of a deep respect for Maiev’s privacy.
Concern melted into an established stoicism as Naisha reported, “Not just yet.”
Maiev nodded. “And the recruits?”
“At the lodge with Mirana, awaiting orders.”
Maiev adjusted her pauldrons one final time. “I shall speak with Califax then,” she announced, making her way to the door. “It’s imperative that he—”
“Califax is currently tending to the Betrayer, my lady.”
Despite herself, Maiev froze—how long had it been since she last stepped foot in those chambers? How long had it been since she’d seen his face, those menacing fel orbs piercing her chest? How long had it been since Maiev humiliated herself, nearly destroying everything for unrequited desire?
She could still remember the warmth of Illidan’s seed on her stomach; the magnificent sounds which escaped his traitorous lips and the ecstasy marring his sharp features. Maiev wanted to revel in his afterglow, using his undivided attention as the catalyst for her own pleasure. But deep within, she knew that revealing such vulnerability would be her undoing. It had to stop somewhere, and she had to be the one to stop it.
His howling echoed through the halls that night, trailing after Maiev’s retreating form. It followed her into her quarters where she collapsed onto the floor in agony. Her body ached for him, threatening to tear itself apart the longer she remained unfulfilled. Maiev could feel her cunt pulse, her buckling knees chained to the floor. Her skin was on fire, the sweat of restraint dripping down her chest.
There was a sick sort of emptiness between her thighs, desiring a sense of satiety—she needed something inside of her. Her hands felt like foreign objects as they moved, fingers smearing cum down her stomach until they were coated. Then, Maiev—depraved and starving—worked those very same fingers into her own cunt.
Mercilessly, Maiev pleasured herself, hoping to satisfy that dull ache within her core; to meet her needs halfway. Her fingers filled the void, Illidan’s seed acting as some sort of placebo, all with the intention of pacifying this mortal desire for him.
Compulsory was the only way to describe it, Maiev fixed to the very place she’d collapsed despite her discomfort. No matter how hard she willed it to, her body would not move. It no longer belonged to her, and yet, she felt the course of every indulgent shockwave. She felt the soreness in her knees and the sharpness in her fingernails, the hard ground a bed for her lechery.
Over, and over again, Maiev replayed their encounter in her mind before it inevitably gave way to fantasy. She imagined herself deactivating his wards, allowing them the gift of touch after centuries without. In that lust-addled state, she might have believed the cage would be enough to contain him; that he would disregard the path to freedom in favor of taking her between those metal bars. Or perhaps she might have come to him, slinking her way into his cell so he could bury himself inside her.
But she knew the truth—if Illidan ever laid his hands on her, she would never make it out alive.
The erotica she’d crafted disgusted her, and yet, she still indulged in it. Through strangled breaths, Maiev moaned Illidan’s name repeatedly. Hot tears stung at her eyes as both pain and pleasure sung in harmony, erupting within her bloodstream. Her flesh was so hot, it could incinerate her bones into ash. A part of her wished she would melt entirely, though she’d rather evaporate than linger like a puddle after a storm.
No such fortune would find Maiev, writhing on the ground as she came undone. Upon meeting her peak, a pleasing rush of warmth flooded through every limb. For the briefest of moments, Maiev believed this was the end—her compromise had worked.
Then, the hollowness gripped her once again.
Maiev, trembling and filthy, crawled to the bath chamber. All of her fingers hurt, sharp pain on one hand and soreness upon the other. Her skin was slick with all sorts of bodily fluids—blood, sweat, semen, and of course, the evidence of her own lust. Every nerve screamed for purification; to be bathed in the silver light of a moon that could reach her no longer.
Maiev had submerged her entire body within the beckoning moon pool, shivering despite its welcoming warmth. There, she would float aimlessly, begging her goddess for mercy until exhaustion had finally claimed her.
It was Naisha who had awoken Maiev, pulling her out of the water in a panic. And though Maiev was conscious, she hardly had all her faculties. The pain had been unbearable—she could barely move. More than just the ache of nonfulfillment, sharp pangs within her gut had crippled her as if the monster within sought revenge by blade. Naisha was forced to carry the warden to her cot, only leaving for assistance at the behest of Maiev herself.
In the lonely dark, oscillating between the deeps and a dream, something strange happened to Maiev. A fractured memory had come home to roost, emerging as some unfathomable feeling. An amalgamation of sounds, scents, and imagery which sought an existence unpossessed—the ineffable vision of a future yet to pass, or perhaps, the ambivalent hope of one to come. Leathery wings, the heat of fel runes, the smell of dusk and ash, and a dangerous set of hands possessing the grasp of devotion which had finally come to seize her.
An imperial silhouette under a sky of green fire—sorrow, and relief, and anticipation. The sound of hooves, resounding down the halls of a glimmering city in approach. Her heart leapt into her throat, eager, yet unprepared for those ardent hands. But barred from the gates of affection, consideration such as described, so coveted by Maiev, would never belong to her.
Maiev had opened her eyes, revealing four hooves as a warm hand pressed firmly upon her abdomen. “Her cycle has begun…” The voice was soothing—elderly, wise, and most trustworthy. A stark contrast to the only other male voice she’d heard in the last few centuries.
“Her…cycle?” Oh, the effort of which Naisha poured into keeping an even tone—Maiev could tell, even in such a state.
And that was how Califax—a keeper of the grove, and naturally, a druid as well—would join their cause. Naisha had brought him along with a few wildkin which resolved more issues than just Maiev’s personal health crisis. For months, they had attempted propositioning kaldorei druids for their developing organization, but none had been willing to return from the Emerald Dream to take up the mantle.
Aside from the ability to terraform their facility, the Watchers would need healers who could draw magic from the earth to care for their health as evidenced by Maiev herself. If she were to transition from a mere warden to the Warden, Maiev would need to consider all logistics, especially as far as the wellbeing of her new recruits went. As a priestess, there were plenty of ailments she could care for, hardly needing a healer for herself. But now, so far from moonlight, it was difficult to manage even a scrape.
So, of course, it would be the same for the others.
“Should that deter me?” Maiev challenged, bulldozing over her own moment of hesitation. “I have my duty to fulfill, as do we all.”
“Yes, mistress,” Naisha conceded, following Maiev out of her chamber. They made their way through the winding pathways of the deeps, passing a stray wildkin here and there as they worked their magic through the growing facility. “Your orders, my lady?”
“Accompany Califax up to the surface and prepare the recruits,” Maiev stated, her eyes locked upon the threshold which came into view. “If all goes to plan, we should have quarters for the recruits to occupy very soon.”
Maiev’s breathing slowed, every second passing through a vat of molasses. She willed her heart to calm itself, frustration rising in an effort to stifle her trepidation. The very thought of it enraged her—the Warden anxious to stand before her prisoner?
Ridiculous!
Her green gaze fell upon the keeper of the grove spell-casting near the cell, avoiding the familiar splotch which skulked about the edges of its cage. “Califax,” Maiev called out cautiously as a pardon to her interruption.
Unfettered, Califax lowered his arms, peering back at her. “Ah, Warden, I see your armor has been completed. Good, good.” He rotated, hooves dragging across the ground. “I know you are here to encourage my departure. Apologies—I felt it necessary to inspect the wards before I go.”
Though bound by an unrelenting commitment to fulfilling her own duties, Maiev could not seem to hold any bitterness towards the keeper. There weren’t many people the Warden could trust with responsibilities of which were beholden to her and her alone, and yet, not a single ounce of doubt took residence within her in regards to Califax. The healer had an uncanny ability to put her at ease, never one to inspire shame through the mark of judgement—a welcome opposition to Maiev’s own methodologies.
The druid knew very well that it had been Illidan that triggered her reproductive cycle, and despite being the child of a wild god himself, reassured Maiev that magic had little to do with the circumstance. “Procreation is a magic of its own making,” he had told her. “It does not need the blessing of the Moon Mother nor the wilds to happen. Biological impulses influence mortals in way of its own nature. There is no shame in experiencing mortality—it is how we respond to it which dictates our destiny.”
Califax gave Maiev the gift of denial. His words convinced her that she had been correct in her assessment; that the solitary presence of a healthy kaldorei male would throw her body into a state of which would’ve otherwise been unexperienced. Those feelings roiling about her chest—nothing but biological impulses muddied by an affection long past. And all that was left to do was survive the purge of her womb and bleed.
In Maiev’s absence, the druid had taken it upon himself to maintain Illidan’s cell, ensuring to reinforce the wards with a new consideration in mind: pheromones. Califax promised Maiev that neither she nor Illidan would become slaves to their mortal impulses again, returning to their established positions. “Such evil cannot be permitted to take advantage of its only instrument of justice.”
And she would never allow him to.
“Thank you, keeper,” she said, a slight rasp to her voice which betrayed a sense of uncertainty. Maiev had been resolved, possessing such conviction that those wards would restore her resistance to temptation once again. Unwavering, and yet, here she was, quaking under the pressure of his gaze.
“Well, well, well—the coward returns.” The growl of his voice sent shivers down Maiev’s spine, drawing her gaze to a green flicker within the shadows. “Never believed you to be someone who would send sheep to do your dirty work.”
Califax remained unperturbed, giving Maiev a respectful nod. “I shall take my leave. May the wilds guide your hand.” As promised, the keeper left the chamber in a wash of hoof beats, taking Naisha with him.
And now, Maiev was alone with Illidan once more.
“What on Azeroth are you wearing?”
The claws of her gauntlets curled into a fist, irritation rising as she peered into the darkness. Aside from the glow of his tattoos, Maiev could not see him—even still, the trepidation she tried to bury kept her from approaching further. “You are hardly one to make remarks upon what I choose to wear, mongrel,” she spat. “Trousers and a loin cloth? Immodest!”
“Immodest, she says,” Illidan taunted. “If I recall correctly, the last we met, you—”
“Silence, vermin!” Heat rose to Maiev’s cheeks, mostly disguised by the new helm upon her head.
The silence lasted only a moment, Illidan’s venomous words curling around her. “Pathetic! Look at how you hug the wall in your cowardice, Warden.”
Maiev’s feet were moving before the anger had even erupted, meeting him in the shadows as she crowded the edge of his cage. No longer obscured by the darkness, Illidan’s visage came into view, holding Maiev’s sharp gaze. The fiery glow of those fel orbs, barely dampened by the ragged blindfold he maintained, infuriated her. How dare he pour his rage into her as if he were her own reflection?
Illidan’s sinuous lips were pulled into an antagonizing smirk, but his gaze hardly reflected any humor. Every crease, line, and muscle in his face moved to convey a deep hatred. A disdain so potent, it caught between her teeth, the bitter taste dancing upon her tongue. Consumption of his rancor made her sick to her stomach, conjuring an effigy of her own animosity in the form of a grimace. With every limb, organ, and sinewy fiber she possessed, Maiev hated Illidan.
And she hated that he was right about her.
Maiev had become a prisoner to Illidan’s aura. His magnetism had been held above her head since the very first day they met. Like a fool, she allowed him to consume her, as if the amber-eyed sorcerer she once held an alor’el for would finally return for her. But Illidan Stormrage was gone, destroyed by the monster within—a power-hungry demon who stood for all Maiev opposed.
That was who stood before her now, and she would no longer toe the line like some common coward. Maiev would bear the weight of his fury and welcome the burden of his hatred. Her duty was to act as the blade of justice and represent all of which he would atone for.
“I will be drawn into your petty arguments no longer!” Maiev snapped. “You have no hold over me, Illidan Stormrage!” She turned on her heel defiantly, prepared to make her exit.
“Two hundred and ninety-seven.”
Maiev halted. “What?”
“Two hundred and ninety-seven,” Illidan repeated, a reluctance in his tone. “That is how many times the druid has visited since his arrival. If his visits are daily as I expect they are, that makes two hundred and ninety-seven moons since last we met.”
Once again, Maiev’s body moved on its own, closing the distance between them—albeit, slower than she had the first time. Her brows furrowed with bemusement, eyes searching his face to divine some sort of explanation for this revelation. However, his expression remained measured, his gaze tracking her movements.
It was only when Maiev had returned to the edge of his cell that Illidan would speak again, a scowl pulling at his lips as he leaned in to meet her at eye level. “You say I have no hold over you, little warden,” Illidan sneered, “and yet, you abandoned your post to some tree-hugger—unable to bear facing me after I drenched you with my seed.”
“Enough!” Maiev spat, her face as close as it could get to his without breaching the barrier. “Speak one more filthy word and I will take your tongue with my glaive!”
Illidan grinned. Despite the suggestive cock of his brow, the flash of those fangs were menacing—cruel. “And what will you do with it, little fox?”
Maiev embraced the obstruction from her helm, a humiliating redness warming her cheeks with shame. Her sharp tongue, useless and uncomfortable within her mouth, could form no retort. She tossed a growl at him, spinning around to escape his presence.
Maiev would tolerate him no longer.
“Run for now, Maiev—we’ll meet again soon enough.”
***
The Barrow Deeps, once hollow and barren, had become fettered with activity. Wildkin roamed the pathways of which they constructed, maintaining the structural integrity of each room, chamber, and hall subsequently created. Within those spaces, new recruits went about their activities—training, and watching, and laughing as kinship should. A surprising number of kaldorei females had dedicated themselves to the cause, coming from the ranks of Tyrande’s Sentinels and the remnants of the Sisterhood, and all with an itch for a new duty to fulfill under Maiev’s astute leadership.
After centuries alone with Illidan, it was a nice change of pace. Where the Warden once wandered the emptiness to center her mind, she now found herself greeted by a variety of voices. She could hardly walk two steps outside of her quarters before the inevitable approach of a watcher, either with a report or for casual small talk—the latter of which Maiev had come to dread.
The Warden had never been particularly good at socializing. With such surliness, it was rare to find anyone who could withstand even a few minutes with her outside of obligation. Sure, she could stumble her way through conversations with explicit purpose, but never anything frivolous without utterly destroying the mood. It could’ve been considered a character flaw if it hadn’t added to the strange sort of magnetism she possessed.
Wherever there was chaos and disorder, there would also be Maiev taking up the mantle of leadership without hesitation. Leaving little room for opposition with the assertion of such dominance, one could liken it to hostile takeover—a dictatorship to the untrained eye. But if her brother were any indication, Maiev Shadowsong had merely been born to lead, and wherever she’d go, there would always be someone more than willing to follow.
Many things could be said about the Warden, but not one could denounce her command skills.
“Oh, Lady Maiev.”
Maiev halted in what she realized was a rather swift procession to her quarters, a dread weighing upon her shoulders. Sweat clung to her skin, her worn muscles screaming for relief under the pressure of her armor. Even still, she turned in order to address the voice in kind. While she desperately wanted to bathe after a full day of training recruits, the Warden knew it was important to maintain decent relationships with her fellow watchers. “Yes?”
At the end of the corridor, an envelope in hand, stood Saynna Stormrunner, peering back at Maiev in cautious observation. “Pardon me, mistress,” she apologized with a slight bow. “I did not mean to disturb you.”
Maiev shook her head. “No apologies necessary—I am quite undisturbed. Ishnu’alah, sister.” She glanced at the letter in the watcher’s hand, nudging a polite chin toward them. “Outgoing?”
Saynna nodded. “To my brother.” A melancholic smile graced her stoic features. “He wasn’t all too pleased to learn I would be joining you in the deeps.”
“Is that so?” The Warden lifted a curious brow, a frown pulling at her tight lips. “Eldest?”
“He is younger.” Saynna licked her lips, her expression measured. “He fails to understand that my commitment is not abandonment, but purpose. He is all I have left after the war, and I will do all I can to ensure his life is peaceful.”
“I understand.” As she nodded, the Warden’s mind wandered.
Of course, Maiev understood.
Despite her austere manner of expression, there was no one she loved more than her brother. It came to her as naturally as breathing—not even an eternity of deliberate absence could erase his memory from the depths of her heart. Maiev had not heard from Jarod since the day she buried herself within the deeps. Understandable, considering the lack of effort she put into reaching him of her own accord.
In the event that Maiev found purchase somewhere within Jarod’s heart, she thought it cruel to remind him that they would never see each other again. After all, Jarod had always been a sensitive soul. It was a surprise to Maiev when he enlisted in the Guard of Suramar, intimately familiar with his empathic proclivities. At the time, she could hardly imagine her little brother in a fight, let alone taking a life. It had been a relief when she discovered he’d been stationed in the city where such violence was less common place.
Then, the war came.
Maiev watched her brother fall into leadership as easily as leaves in the autumn, subverting her expectations so violently, she could hardly fathom it. Only now could she recognize how condescending she had been when they’d reunited after so many years, his naive little face etched into her mind. It limited her imagination, making it impossible to accept all he had accomplished. Her baby brother—her little Jarod—a captain?
But as the war went on, Maiev could finally see the spark. Perhaps remnants of their mother existed within him too. She had gone from doubt to full credence, pushing for his ascension in the wake of Desdel Stareye’s piss-poor authority. If anyone could unite their troops, it would be Jarod—someone with as much empathy and dedication as the fortitude they possessed. Maiev, though a damn good leader in her own right, would’ve never been able to do what her brother had.
“Jarod Shadowsong, right?” Saynna pulled Maiev out of her thoughts. “His feats are legendary. You must be proud.”
Maiev swallowed down her melancholy, flashing the watcher a tight smile. “Very.”
“Do you communicate often?” Saynna asked innocently. “I wonder if consistent correspondence might ease the tension between Baric and I.”
Discomfort burrowed itself between her ribs. “I’m sure it will.” Maiev maintained a cordial expression. “If you’ll excuse me, sister, I really must return to my quarters.”
“Ah, of course, my lady…” The Warden, however, did not remain long enough to return pleasantries.
Upon swift feet, Maiev wouldn’t stop until her chamber doors were firmly closed behind her. Suffocated, she clumsily stripped her armor off, the clatter of its pieces echoing through the hollowness. Her mind whirled with endless worry, pondering upon her own fate—was this it?
When she had become Warden, Maiev had been resolved and resolute. In the dark, without hearth and home, she assented to this life—no family, no friends, and no mate. Duty had become her solace with little else to grasp onto. For once, Maiev questioned her commitment. What had she missed in her years below? What would she miss in the years to come? What kind of life would she have made for herself?
But as Maiev threw herself into the moon pool, a cathartic epiphany washed over her. Save for an unlikely world in which Illidan had not betrayed their people, misery was Maiev’s only destiny. Without the title of High Priestess, what purpose would she have? With such austerity, who would look at her softly? Would Jarod truly find a place for Maiev in his life, or would he only be content with their distance?
Strangely, the hopelessness justified everything called into question.
It was the only decision to be made in a world where Illidan Stormrage had damned them both to a shared fate. While she often buried it, there was a deep sense of regret when she thought of him. As delusional as it was, Maiev held secret fantasies of what could have been. She would never admit to it, but when Maiev mulled it over in her brief moments of weakness, she realized that Illidan was right, and she hated him for it. She hated that he truly was the only male in all the cosmos who could stomach her, and she hated that she would never know if her patience would have paid off in time; if Tyrande would have faded into the abyss as Illidan’s affections turned to Maiev. Would he have kissed her hands, begging to be worthy of her?
Maiev submerged her head underwater, hoping the pressure would remove Illidan’s stain from her mind. How had he even invaded her thoughts to begin with? She had been lamenting upon her brother and her desire to truly make amends, but as he was wont to do, Illidan had found purchase even in that. Parasite.
Once Maiev finished bathing, she slipped into a simple pair of panties and a soft tunic. She spent the majority of her days encased in armor and relished the moments where her skin could breathe. With a sigh, she took a seat at her desk, cluttered with parchment, tomes, and other operational material. Her eyes, however, landed upon a quill and a vial of fresh ink.
Maybe it was selfish, but Maiev couldn’t help herself. She picked up the quill, scrambling for a spare piece of parchment. Perhaps it was better to try and receive silence than not try at all. Whatever Jarod chose, she would accept as long as she knew he was safe—though, a part of her desperately hoped he missed her as dearly as she did him.
Little did Maiev know, however, her letter would never reach him.
***
Gone. The word wildly thrashed about her mind, face pinched with a growing frustration. Maiev peered down at the envelope Naisha had so graciously given back to her. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”
Naisha maintained an impartial expression. “Self-exiled, it seems. No one has heard from him in months, mistress.”
“Not one?” Maiev spat. “Nonsense! How does an esteemed commander go missing without a trace?”
“Commander Shadowsong stepped down, my lady,” Naisha informed, “and with some rather severe remarks.”
“What remarks?”
“The way of things,” she replied simply. “He was disillusioned with leadership.”
“If he doesn’t like how Tyrande and Malfurion operate, all the more reason to maintain his position.” Maiev scoffed. “And who exactly is your source? Has any of this been vetted?”
Despite the Warden’s hostility, Naisha remained unfazed. “Shandris Feathermoon, my lady.”
Maiev took significant pause. While her relationship with Tyrande was tenuous at best, she held no quarrel with Shandris. Given their rapport, if the information about Jarod had been provided by her, it had to be true—her brother had truly abandoned them without a single word of farewell to his own sister.
The envelope crumpled within Maiev’s furious grip. “Leave me.”
“At once, mistress.” Naisha obliged, disappearing from the Warden’s chambers.
It was then that Maiev’s body began to tremble under the weight of her grief. More than for his abandonment, Maiev was angry with herself. Why hadn’t she reached out to him sooner? Why hadn’t she tried to bridge the gap before it was too late? If only she had been more vulnerable in their youth, perhaps Jarod would have sought out her council to temper his doubts, and he would still be within reach.
Maiev laid upon her cot as, suddenly, everything felt heavy. Where she lay, her body froze in place. Her limbs would not move, and all she could do was stare at the granite floor. Tears would not come, though they stung behind her eyes like a vile threat. Her fingers were tightly curled around the crumpled envelope within her palm.
Was life without her truly so simple?
“That was always your fate, wasn’t it?”
Frustration pulled her eyes to a close. She did not wish to think of him; to consider his cruel words. If what he had said was true, it was only as a curse—the curse he placed upon her the moment he walked through the Temple of Elune and made himself known. Is this truly my destiny, Mother Moon?
Maiev remained motionless for an indeterminable amount of time. Her thoughts vacillated between suffering and numbness, and for a moment, Maiev believed she would lose herself to the depths of madness. She was no stranger to grief, but this felt different. Senseless anguish, beholden only to contrition. Enough to leave her sniveling in the dirt.
With great effort, Maiev would finally stand, slowly stripping herself of armor. Perhaps the blessed waters of the moon pool would get her close enough to convene with her goddess. She desperately needed a sign—an award of her faith to keep her moving. If her fate was to suffer, there must have been some consolation to cling onto; some greater purpose behind it.
As Maiev moved to pull down her leggings, a chill crawled the length of her spine, pulling her focus to the door of her chamber. The tips of her ears quirked, but no apparent sound elicited such a response. Maiev, dressed down to her tunic and leggings, approached the door with caution. She could hear nothing of note, and yet, intuition told her something was happening.
The Warden put on a pair of slippers, keen on investigating this strange sensation which had gripped her. As she padded down the halls, she noted a distinct silence. The recruits must be at rest. The empty halls reminded her of the years where it had just been her and—what was that?
A groan. She could hear it clearly, though it sounded as if someone had bit their own tongue to stop from crying out. Maiev followed the sound, immediately recognizing the path she’d taken. Strained, forceful whispers began to pull into focus as she neared the chamber she was most familiar with.
Maiev stepped through the threshold, her eyes immediately fixing themselves upon the cell at its center. She searched the shadows, cautiously approaching. A series of whimpers came from its depths. Now that she was close enough, Maiev could finally make out his incessant whispers. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…”
Though she knew it was Illidan, his voice had been so desperate and anguished, she could’ve easily mistaken it for someone else. When Maiev finally reached the edge of his cell, horror settled within the pit of her stomach.
Illidan sat at the center, fingers bloodied as he clawed at his own face. The flesh was ripped from around his eyes, exposing the muscles beneath, viscera spilling down his neck and chest. As the cell had been designed, Illidan’s wounds were healed almost immediately upon injury. Even still, from the twist of his features, it was clear that the pain was excruciating.
“Illidan,” Maiev called out tentatively, hoping to break him out of whatever madness had taken hold of him. He, however, paid her no mind as he continued to violently mutilate himself. “Illidan! Enough!”
Instinctively, Maiev reached up to the ward she knew would unlock his cell, but she stopped herself just before anything could be done. How did she know this wasn’t some ruse? Illidan was cunning and certainly not above making a scene to manipulate others into his favor. For all she knew, she would be falling right into his trap—freeing him, and subsequently endangering everyone in the facility.
Maiev crouched, narrowing her eyes. “If this is trickery, Betrayer, I demand you cease at once,” she commanded. “I will not free you under any circumstance.”
Though she tried desperately to steel herself in the face of his agony and gore, Maiev winced each time Illidan dragged those black claws into the hollow pits of his eyes. “I cannot bear it any longer—make it stop!”
Her flesh quivered, haunted by his pleas. “What must stop, Illidan?” Maiev’s tone softened of its own accord as she settled onto the ground, a single hand pressed against the barrier. “Tell me what ails you.”
Illidan whined, finally pulling his hands from his face. “The darkness. It…consumes me. My eyes—they burn…” As he spoke of his agony, his claws found purchase upon his face once again, digging more furiously. “I must take them out…I must take them out of me!”
“Illidan, stop!” Maiev urged. “It is a phantom pain—your eyes are already gone!”
This, however, only seemed to distress him further, his grunts turning to panicked wails.
Maiev opened her mouth in order to attempt comfort once more, but quickly realized that nothing she said could possibly bring him back to heel. She wondered for a moment if it would be better to let him continue until he eventually tired. However, despite her contempt, she recognized such as a cruelty unbecoming of her.
Even still, what else could she do?
A thought occurred to her, arising from the depths of her memory. When she and her brother were young, their mother would sing them to sleep on nights before a hunt, and even after she passed, Maiev carried her voice within her. On nights where they missed their mother most, Maiev would sing to herself and Jarod, hoping that her spirit would soothe them once again.
Maiev took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she focused on the memory of her mother’s voice. “’Malorne comes. Born of light,’” she sang. “’He drives the many-colored clouds onward. Here, where the sunlight and the waters mingle. Our songs float up and caress the new-born infant.’” It had been a long time since she last sung, explaining the slight rasp to her otherwise pleasant tone. “’Malorne comes…’”
No one outside of her family had ever heard her sing, and that was by her own design. There was a fragility in her voice which juxtaposed Maiev’s character. Even her father had once said that everything gentle within Maiev had manifested in her voice and nothing more—just like her mother.
“’The child of cloud and mist appeareth on the ridge of the sky. He shines on the summit of creation. The hosts proclaim the glory of our common Mother.’” Slowly, the clawing had ceased and Illidan’s whimpers settled into heavy breaths. “’Malorne comes…’”
“’He hath come to the bosom of his beloved. Smiling on him, she beareth him to highest heaven.’” Unbeknownst to her, silver eyes fluttered to a close, Maiev glowed. Light poured out of her, pooling within the base of her throat and spilling with each melodious note she drew. The luminous lux tide of her palms, pressed against the magic barrier, beckoned Illidan nearer. “’With yearning heart, on thee we gaze. Oh, gold-winged messenger of mighty gods.’”
He crawled to her—toward Maiev’s brilliant light.
Between verses, she would gaze upon Illidan as he eventually curled up on the ground in front of her. Watching the Betrayer tremble, desperate to get as close to her as possible, Maiev felt something unknown churn within her, and just for this moment, the Warden would grant her prisoner a sliver of mercy.
“’Wise elves see him in their libations. As the sacrifice mounts to the eternal heights, mingling with our solemn chant,’” she sang on, relishing in how he eased into her voice. “’He stands erect in highest heaven. Clad in noble raiment, armed with shining weapons. Hurling light to the farthest region. Rejoicing in his radiant splendor.’”
Then, all was quiet.
Though he was calm, evident by his steady breathing, Maiev noted the occasional tremble in Illidan’s collapsed form—were the tendrils of madness still upon him?
“Illidan?” She nearly cooed, that glowing warmth flowing through her limbs. If she hadn’t been drunk on this foreign softness, she might have been disgusted with herself. Even still, this—whatever this was—it was instinctual, as if the tender connection they shared in that moment were the natural way of things. An unspoken, unacknowledged destiny.
But Maiev should’ve known better than to indulge in such fantasy.
Illidan, in his relief, would exhale a single name. “Tyrande…”
The light evaporated, Maiev shattered in its cessation—a betrayal of biblical proportions. The edges of her vision blurred, sickness churning within her gut. Her blood had become snow, veins thickened with a humiliation she hadn’t felt since Dejahna crowned Tyrande Whisperwind as High Priestess. Was this some twisted act of dispensation, as if her goddess had brought Illidan Stormrage into her life solely as a lesson in humility?
Maiev scrambled to her feet, chest heaving with shame and despair. Her voice had been wasted on corruption. Her vulnerability spent on impulse. The Warden had to kill the weeds this demon had planted within her heart. He didn’t belong there. He was unworthy of such a garden, regardless of its vacancy.
The Warden did not stop moving until she was secure within her quarters, and wasted no time in removing the rest of her clothing. Maiev threw herself into the moon pool as she was wont to do, intent on submerging until she drowned. Life was meaningless without her conviction, so why bother living at all?
The Warden bargained with her goddess, begging for providence. She would not resurface until this fragility—this unrequited affection—had been wholly eradicated from her soul. Only with forbearance would Maiev continue on; without love and without compassion, she would emerge from the depths of her despair.
It had been decided then, in the womb of Elune’s will, that Maiev Shadowsong’s wrath would eclipse all yearning.
There was no other choice.
***
The others weren’t allowed anywhere near his chambers—he’d figured that out quickly. Despite how long it had been since these Watchers had joined them in the deeps, not a single new face had been gazed upon by Illidan beyond that wretched druid. He could sense them, however, and that filled him with an incomprehensible amount of rage.
Miserly vixen. He and Maiev should’ve been suffering from isolation together. And yet, she was out there, prancing about with her new sisters no doubt. Avoiding me…
If he’d had the wherewithal to conceptualize his emotions when it came to the Warden, Illidan might have identified his rage as jealousy. This unconscionable envy of which he’d likely attribute to Maiev having ample company whilst he was alone—without her. Somewhere deep within, Illidan felt entitled to Maiev, though he couldn’t imagine why.
Nor would he imagine it—he loathed her, didn’t he?
Illidan paced the length of his cell, and with each timeless moment that passed, his frustration only grew. Where the hell was Maiev? With how long it had been since the Warden performed her own duties, it felt as if he had been relegated to Califax’s charge instead.
To calm himself, Illidan focused his mind on the one thing he cherished. Tyrande—he had seen her recently, and he clung to that memory like nothing else. A bright silver light had washed over him, bringing Elune’s clarity in the form of a hymn he’d never heard before. In his madness, Tyrande had come to his aid—at least, he believed it was her. No one else could possibly be so luminous. Though, admittedly, the High Priestess had never been a good singer.
Odd that his manifestation of her held such a quality when he had always found her caterwauling particularly endearing. But Illidan preferred to dismiss his growing skepticism. Of course, it wasn’t really her. He merely enjoyed believing she was still thinking of him enough to send a part of her spirit over. What else did he have to live for?
Not that he could kill himself anyway.
A familiar set of footsteps tickled the shell of his ears, his senses on high alert as his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Illidan snapped his head in the direction of the doorway, claws digging into his forearms. His head buzzed with anticipation, her scent upon his tongue. There was an eagerness within him he cursed away, turning his back to the threshold of his chambers.
“Ah, the Warden returns,” he taunted. “Finally here to fulfill your own damn duty, are you?”
Illidan would not face her, though his body longed for it.
Maiev’s greaves rattled with the shuffling of her feet, an angry click of her tongue joining the cacophony. “I’ve no time for your petty grievances, Betrayer,” she spat. “I will check your wards and be on my way.”
His heart palpitated at the thought of her leaving so soon.
“Still tucking your tail, little fox?” Illidan scoffed, disguising his apprehension. “Predictable.”
“You’d be wise not to vex me today,” she warned. “I’m on edge.” Indeed, the Warden’s tone had been sharpened upon a whetstone.
Illidan couldn’t resist a glance over his shoulder, a single brow cocked. “Good,” he told her with a smirk. “When you’re not on edge, you’re taking up too much space.”
“Funny.” Maiev, of course, had been unamused. “What other jokes have you been working on, jester?”
Illidan kept his arms folded across his chest, resolute in his decision to face away from her. Still, he couldn’t help but follow the sound of her footsteps, her aura prickling at the back of his neck. “Well, there’s this one about a lustful warden who fears her prisoner…” Illidan prepared for the backlash which would certainly come from the Warden, as intended.
But much to his surprise, no such reaction came.
Instead, a bitter laugh landed upon his ears like a melody. “I never took you for a novelist,” Maiev retorted, still pacing. “Though I suppose there’s little else to do.”
“You’re in no position to mock me, Warden,” he countered between clenched teeth. “You may choose to forget it, but I’ve seen the result of your desperation and salacity.”
“And what does that say about you?”
He furrowed his brows, bemused. “What?”
“You participated,” she stated coldly. “So moved by the mere sight of me, you salivated like a feral hound.” Maiev’s footsteps came to a halt, her voice closer than before. “If you insist upon holding this over my head, you’ll only implicate yourself.”
“There are no implications.” He didn’t care much for her calculated tone, thin lips pulled into a scowl. “A biological imperative—that’s all it was. You possess nothing worth salivating over without it.” Illidan swallowed sharply, willing his racing heart to slow.
Though he opted for denial, deep within his gut, Illidan knew the lie had been forged as a weapon. He wanted Maiev to hurt. He wanted to make her suffer for burying him until his existence faded from the world, and then daring to leave him all on his own. With nothing else, Maiev was Illidan’s only possession, but it seemed she would soon forget him too.
“Right,” Maiev surprisingly conceded, not a single ounce of concern in her voice. “That is all it was. Dredging up the past merely undermines the reality of the situation—unless there is something you aren’t admitting to?”
Illidan scoffed, finally turning to face her. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Maiev stood at the very edge of the barrier, arms folded over her chest. “And you’re being **defensive.” The owl-faced helm only enhanced her mocking smile. “So what will it be, Betrayer—mortality, or a secret desire?”
If only Illidan could spit on her, he’d do so on that fancy new armor, but Califax ensured all bodily fluids were now contained by the new wards. So instead, Illidan spat on the barrier, right where her face was. “This is the closest you’ll ever come to being salivated over, Maiev,” he sneered, the spit dripping down the invisible barrier.
But from the way she grinned, it was clear Maiev knew this was Illidan’s way of conceding. “Well, it seems we’ve finally reached a conclusion.” The Warden spun on her heel. “I’ll be on my way then. Califax will be back to his post shortly.”
Illidan’s heart dropped, though the disappointment manifested as frustration. “So that’s it then?”
Although her helm certainly obscured the majority of her face, Illidan could still make out the aggressive quirk of her nose she did whenever she was confused. “Is there supposed to be more?”
“There is supposed to be one **Maiev Shadowsong as my warden,” he snapped. “Not one of Cenarius’ bastard children!”
“Watch your tongue, mongrel,” Maiev warned dangerously. “What do you care who keeps your cage? I am Warden of this entire facility now—I have other charges to tend to as well.”
“Shirking your duties to play Follow the Leader after being snubbed for High Priestess?” Illidan taunted with a click of his tongue. “How disappointing.”
“You are not entitled to my undivided attention, Illidan!” Maiev argued. “You aren’t even the slightest bit grateful for my company!”
“You’ve clearly gone as mad as I have—grateful?!” Illidan’s face pinched with enraged incredulity. “Do you even hear yourself when you spout your nonsense, Maiev? Am I to be grateful to she who keeps me bound?! It is because of youthat I can no longer bask in the beauty of a forest, nor feel the moonlight on my skin! It is because of you that I can no longer taste magic upon my tongue—smell the rain in the early morning! I am wasting away for an eternity with nothing to live for and no means to die, all because of you!”
“You think I wanted this?!” Maiev approached him slowly despite the passion in her words. “I wanted you dead for everything you’ve done, but it was not my choice to make!”
“THEN KILL ME!” Illidan slammed his palms against the barrier. “Slay me down, Maiev! Release us both from this torment!”
“That is not the justice that was chosen for you!” Maiev cried, the distress in her voice betraying her snarling mouth.
Choice—did that even matter anymore?
“No one would know,” he reasoned, much calmer than before as defeat weighed upon his shoulders. “Can’t you see it, Maiev? The entire world has moved on without me. Anyone I called a friend, my brother, Tyrande…” Illidan looked down at his palm as if his beloved would manifest on its heel. “I am already dead—not a soul remembers my name, let alone my fate.”
There was a pregnant pause, save for the sound of their breathing.
“Am I not a soul?” Her voice sounded like glass shattering, and Illidan peered up at the Warden with the hopes of understanding her feelings. Those vulpine features he’d grown so accustomed to, however, had been disguised a little too well by that damned owl. “For as long as I live, Illidan Stormrage,” she uttered, “so shall you.”
“Then for your sake, Maiev,” he told her calmly, not an ounce of malice in his tone, “I hope you die.”
The green glow of her eyes flickered. “Absence only makes the heart grow fonder, you know.”
“Really?” He flickered back. “Then what does presence make?”
Despite the ghost of smiles upon their lips, Illidan knew that peace could never truly exist between the two. They were too similar, and yet, existed in total opposition to one another. Born natural enemies, the fox and the hound were forever bound by the hand of fate. They’d been doomed to an eternity at odds as the Warden and the Betrayer, and Illidan could not fathom it.
All he had done—every decision he’d made—had been for Tyrande. Yet, it was Maiev who he would come to possess; it was Maiev he would spend an eternity with. All he knew, and the only one who knew him, was Maiev. No matter what they would do to each other, what venom they spat, and what blood they spilled. They were infinite.
And though he loathed her, the once amber-eyed sorcerer couldn’t help but enjoy the way he’d made her eyes look green too.
***
Maiev found herself spreading ever thinner as the Watchers grew.
It wasn’t that the work was too difficult. Quite the contrary, there were times she felt she didn’t have enough work to do. She had rooted herself firmly into the Barrow Deeps, vowing to remain for as long as Illidan Stormrage was imprisoned, which gave her zero opportunities to surface.
For the most part, she was fine with that. Over time, she discovered there was plenty to be done from below. The past few centuries proved as much, her administrative work doing more to expand the Watchers than could have been accomplished with her in the field. Maiev never thought that pushing parchment could result in such success, but even an old fox could learn new tricks.
And that’s exactly why Maiev decided she could no longer be the only warden.
“No.”
The word stopped Maiev in her tracks. She and Naisha had been patrolling the western wing when Maiev decided it was time to offer her lieutenant a well-deserved promotion. “What do you mean no?”
A promotion she didn’t want, apparently.
“Are you ordering me, mistress?” Naisha’s expression was as impassive as ever.
“I am not,” Maiev insisted, “but I would ask you to—”
“Then my answer remains the same,” Naisha said, meeting Maiev’s gaze with pristine conviction.
Maiev typically admired her lieutenant’s dedication, but this was one of those rare times she wished she weren’t so headstrong. “Naisha…”
Her lieutenant would hear nothing of it. “My lady.”
“I need reliable people,” she tried to explain.
“And you have many,” Naisha replied. “Three sisters come to mind, in fact.”
Maiev knew the individuals her lieutenant was referencing, and of course, they were already on her list to approach. “Yes, but I had four in mind.” Five wardens to start felt right to Maiev.
“Then allow me to make a suggestion for the fourth,” Naisha countered, “if my lady has her heart set on such a number.”
Maiev took in a deep breath, holding her sigh as she resumed their pace down the hall. Far be it from her to force Naisha to do anything. Their relationship, however devoted her lieutenant was, had been built on trust and mutual respect. Naisha would always do as ordered by Maiev, which meant it was up to Maiev to know where the line was and when to hold it.
This was one of those times.
“Go on then.”
“Sira Moonwarden,” Naisha presented, trailing after her.
“Sira?” Maiev observed her lieutenant from the corner of her eye.
Sira wasn’t new to the organization, and her work ethic was solid; she just wasn’t as established as the others in mind. Maiev had intended to promote sisters who’d served with her at the Temple of Elune before the war to start, then establish a cadence from there. From what little she knew, Sira had been a child during the War of the Ancients where she lost her parents to demons—as did many—and that was her inspiration to become a Watcher.
“Not someone a little more experienced?” Maiev was never one to mince words.
Naisha didn’t answer immediately. Maiev had learned quickly not to take her delay for uncertainty—she merely liked to consider her words before speaking them. “Experience can be acquired by anyone,” she said carefully. “Conviction cannot.”
I can’t argue with that. If she trusted Naisha enough to promote her, then why wouldn’t she trust her judgement?
Maiev nodded. “Very well.”
As they walked further down the hall, ready to bring their patrol to an end, Maiev heard the distinct sound of excessive blathering. She turned to look at Naisha, furrowing her brows. Maiev recognized that voice all too well as it echoed from the likeliest of chambers; a chamber Maiev had really hoped she would be spared of visiting that day.
Naisha recognized it too. “An inspection, my lady?”
Maiev sighed. “I suppose we must.”
The Warden and her lieutenant came upon the entrance to the chamber in question, the voice becoming more coherent as they approached. “…Lonely, you know? I mean, come on! I was one of the first, and I have yet to see any males about. Surely, it’s been a few thousand years—maybe even a million!”
What is this fool on about now? Maiev scowled as she entered the chamber.
“You aren’t the least bit curious as to—oh!” At the center of the room, a sayaad sat within her cage, delicate face pushed as far through the bars as the wards would allow. Her perfect red lips were fashioned into a small circle, green glowing eyes wide with overstated glee. “Warden Shadowsong,” she greeted with a vicious smile, her fangs glinting in the lowlight, “and with Naisha, no less. What a lovely surprise! How are your rounds going this evening—or morning? Afternoon? Say, what year are we in?”
Maiev resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Nice try.” She turned to look at the gawking watcher posted by the chamber door. Maiev didn’t recognize her—she was likely a new recruit, and new recruits always made the same mistake when it came to this particular prisoner. “What did you tell her?”
The watcher fiddled with the red scarf pushing her green hair off her forehead, now glistening with a light sheen of sweat. “N-Nothing, I swear!”
“Oh, Maiev,” the demon cooed. “Leave her be. There is no crime in expressing one’s self, is there? She would have no reason to confide in me if you would only give her more exciting work.” She smiled. “Perhaps you should assign her to Illidan!”
“I was not confiding in her, my lady,” the watcher protested, her face twisted with distress. “I haven’t even really spoken to her—I only told her not to use my name! I swear it!”
“Are we no longer friends, Anyndra?”
Maiev sighed, closing her eyes momentarily to quell her irritation. It was always the same with Lilithra. Since they captured her a few millennia ago, there had been a strict rule in place for any Watcher posted to her cell, and no one ever could seem to follow it. “Rotate early,” Maiev ordered, moving her gaze from Naisha to Anyndra. “I’ll wait here with the succubus until your relief arrives.”
“Yes, my lady.” Naisha turned her gaze upon Anyndra, nudging her head slightly toward the door. In turn, Anyndra lowered her head with shame, following after Naisha without a word.
Lilithra sighed, pouting as she slumped against the bars of her cell. “You never let me socialize.”
For good reason. Maiev stayed silent, knowing better than to feed Lilithra.
There were no words too small for the succubus—she could glean an entire history from a simple greeting. It was the skill that made her so dangerous. If she weren’t so slippery, Maiev would lock her away to rot in the dark. However, she was as clever as she was annoying. The number of times Lilithra had tampered with her wards when left to her own devices was proof enough that the risk of a stray word was an unavoidable circumstance.
“Out of curiosity, Warden,” Lilithra said, “do you allow conjugal visits?”
Try as she might, Maiev could not hold back the quirk of her own brow. What?
As if she could read Maiev’s mind, Lilithra slithered along the edge of her cell, slender fingers caressing the bars. “I am so terribly bored, and if my memory serves me well, I recall Illidan Stormrage being quite the handsome kaldorei.”
Something within Maiev seized violently, her folded hands gripping a bit tighter. This was the primary reason she dreaded coming by this chamber. Unfortunately for Maiev, Lilithra was quite familiar with Illidan—to what degree, she never could quite figure out as Lilithra was also an incredible liar. After her incarceration, it hadn’t taken the Warden long to figure out exactly how she’d become the Defiler’s lead intelligence officer.
Just thinking of the devil who thrashed her brother back then made her blood boil, and the succubus was a constant reminder of that. It only added insult to injury that Lilithra had decided Illidan was the best way to get under Maiev’s skin; and it was even worse that her needling had proven effective.
A wry smile slid onto her face. “I know you like to keep him all to yourself, but perhaps I might have a go at him—like old times.” Those green eyes poured into Maiev’s, burning like acid. “With the way he paces at night, it does not seem like you are keeping him…satisfied.”
“Impossible,” Maiev muttered, and immediately regretted it.
Lilithra stopped her predatory pacing, wicked face easing into something more neutral, but no less sinister. “Oh, is it?” Her eyebrows flashed with resolution, a chill seeping into her tone as she mused, “He must be further than I thought.”
Maiev went rigid, knowing she had given Lilithra more information to add to her arsenal. Still, she kept her physical response controlled as she pointed out, “You don’t even know when night is, demon.”
The succubus smiled gently. “We both know that is not what you meant, Warden.”
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