V
The sounds of combat rang through the air, bleeding together, joining into a singular throbbing ring in her ears. Time had once again slowed, and vision was obscured through a haze. She was crawling slowly across the floor, her blood leaving a trail behind. As her strength failed and she leaned over she could feel the pressure of the blade trying to force its way further in.
Unknown voices assaulted her senses as her world began to spin. Accusing, hateful, spiteful, all aimed at her. She had failed in her oath; Her life was now forfeit. She knew her faith was not strong enough. Her curse would never be lifted now. She was to die alone and scorned by the Lover. The fate she had deserved.
As the dream began to fade the final haunting accusation lingered in an angry yet motherly voice. "You do not deserve... to love."
Coatleque awoke once more in a cold sweat, grasping at her mid-section. She was no longer startled by the dreams as she had been, but the pain was growing worse. Glancing around her inn room she realized the night was not yet half through this time. She sat up and sighed, still nursing a phantom wound. There would be no further sleep this night.
Throwing a heavy robe about her nightgown she summoned the night attendant and requested hot tea. A few minutes later she sat in front of the vanity inhaling its fragrance by the light of a dim lantern. It had the calming effect she desired, and she began to think of sleep once more, until the voice returned to her thoughts. Her hand trembled and she was forced to set the cup down lest she spilled it.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror before her. She had not slept in days it felt. She could see it under her own eyes now. Overcome with a sudden sorrow she rose and moved across the room to the bed. Kneeling over the side she cried out.
"What do you want?! What could you possibly want from me?! How have I slighted you that you wouldst torment me this way?!" There was no answer, of course. There never was. Only a mocking silence and an imaginary whispering laughter.
As she stood once more her gaze fell to the bed. She had left the covers thrown aside. The pillows were crooked, sheets crumpled, and a damp spot from the small of her back when she woke in her sweat. She turned, looking across the room to her reflection once more. Her hair was disheveled from tossing in her sleep.
As the scene settled into her mind she began to understand. She had never learned to worship Her properly.
