Anonymous ;   The war had gone in favor of the enemy. The land is a barren wasteland now, dry and burning. Bodies are desecrated, strung up on make-shift crosses as if to shame the person who failed them, who led them into such a futile attack. Lonely weapons of all types lie about the field, cold and forgotten. They had placed their trust in you. And you failed them.

She could still smell the putrid stench of burning flesh in the air. The skies were still dark, charred from the flames’ smoke that now choked the air. Every body was mangled before her, tortured and twisted so that they were alive when they were set ablaze. Their blood, she could still smell it along with their decaying bodies; her stomach turned and she tasted bile in her mouth, especially after seeing the dead strung up and left for her.

Just for their High Summoner.

Their leader.

Their Duchess.

Even with the avatars that helped her through the battle, many died, many suffered and the enemy finally broached their lines. Their screams, long forgotten by many, still rung in her ears. The massacre was over, but the memory remained fresh. Sarah stood alone among the wreckage, feeling the heat of the flames that burned in several areas of the field. The rubble under her feet was once the pristine floor of the temple, which now was tainted with blood. Hands once held the weapons that were littered about, broken and stained with the vitae of the members of the Council.

Her tears had already drained from her, along with any desire to continue, for what was a Duchess when she had no kingdom and a realm under siege. She had become nothing but a myth now, easily tossed into the winds of lore.. for her failures. In the end, Sarah could not save these souls and had forsaken her own.

Her bruised knees came down against the hard marble and she leaned over the weapons surrounding her. Small, blood-stained hands took a hold of a broken blade and shakily held it before her. Her empty gaze lingered on its sharpened, razor edge, which now was held high above her head.

Tears she believed to be dried now filled the brim of her eyes and threatened to trickle down grime-stained cheeks. With a supplicating cry, she asked for the forgiveness of her Goddesses, for without her people, she too, was nothing but a corpse. She belonged with them, her people.

“M’lady!”

And with them, she would lay.

“M’lady, wake up!”

A loud gasp broke past her lips. The Duchess snapped her eyes wide open and faced the horror of those last images in her head, the ones that left an imprint in her heart. She trembled violently and stared at the ceiling above her until the gentle face of a handmaiden had come into view. Her worried eyes looked her over as a caress fell to her sweat-kissed brow. The heart-breaking whines of her companion had filled the air and she realized that she had not been damned to death, it was a dream, nay, a nightmare.

“It was a dream, M’lady, I am here, Aunduin is here, come now, find some calm.” She said quietly while trying to help Sarah sit up, who had stained the sheets with sweat. Her shaking did not end, for her eyes became wet as a sob bubbled in her throat. Arms came around her slender body and pulled her into an embrace. Aunduin hurried to leap on the bed and nuzzle his way between them, where he could feel the incredible drumming of her heart.

Sarah cried loudly, so much that it hurt her chest to release each terrible sound. Her red hair was matted to her exposed back, her tears moistened her handmaiden’s dress. Fingers dug into the shoulders of the one that gave her comfort and she muffled her mouth so no one else, but those within her chambers, could hear her shame.

Dreams usually are forgotten moments after one wakes up.

But for one who carries the burden of others on her shoulders.. this will remain etched into memory.