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  • Writer's pictureHilda

Death is Haunting

Updated: Jun 12, 2023

A bit of background for this piece. This is likely to be a piece that I am exceptionally proud of. It took me a couple of weeks to get the layout how I wanted it properly, going so far as even setting up like a storyboard almost of all the events that I wished to include within.

This is a dream from the changing perspective of my Conan RP character, that I played season 10 on the server Weavers of Fate. Her name is Wordsmith and she is a Goliath bard that was holds a lot of guilt for the death of her twin that continued to gnaw away at her in the face of the chaos she was thrust into. Guilt that translated into overall emotional pain that I hoped to reflect within this dream and that I can say with some confidence I think I managed. Written to the amazing song of "Death, by Melanie Martinez." Hope you all enjoy.


Looking over at her little family, she smiles at them reassuringly, trusting in the Queen that the staff would work and she would be cleansed. Starting to feel hope for a future with them that will be better than all of their pasts. As Luxana begins, Wordsmith closes her eyes, feeling the magic start to get pulled from her. The slow thumping of her heart deafens her to the world around her, gradually picking up when suddenly the world changes around her.

She is running through familiar territory with a smile plastered on her face. There is joy in her heart and soul, while chasing the person ahead of her. Until the other stops and faces her, it is like looking into a mirror only she knows the image is wrong. Then the figure speaks, “Alright, Tenderheart. You know the rules, the first one to give up, loses.”


These are the words she wants to say, to try and stop what she knows is about to happen. Instead, she hears a voice that sounds so like her own. “I will not lose to you, my dear Wordsmith.”

In a flash the moment changes, shifting and she can feel the weight of exhaustion dragging on her. Coupled with dread as they continue with this silly game. Seeing herself, her right self looking back at her before jumping.

Knowing this was the moment, she was a helpless passenger. Trying to close her eyes, not wanting to see even as the sensation of weightlessness overtook her. Seeing herself watch, though it felt off, felt wrong. Leather boot finding purchase on the stone only for it to give out, slip from beneath her as she could not quite get her balance.

Falling back, the same thrilling sensation of weightlessness that came from the jump returned with vengeance in the form of terror.

Suddenly grabbed by her true self, feeling her grip falter but quickly finding itself firm. Only, it was wrong, the blue eyes that she remembered so fondly were now completely black. And a cruel wicked smile replaced what was once one of happiness and love.

“Wait…no…this is not right…”

The not Wordsmith grins and leans in close, “We do not suffer the weak. I am…better…stronger than you…”

“No…that’s not right…”

The words only seem to bring more cruelty to her eyes and her grip starts to loosen. Wordsmith, as her sister, thrashing about trying to grab hold and pull herself up.

“Weakness…is what you are…”

Their places are swapped and it was her sister she was looking up at now, “You are weak…you let people down. Kill them…” barely holding her now. “It should have been you…not me…”


The words are not finished and Wordsmith finds herself falling to what she knows to be her death.

Falling for what feels like forever, anticipating the hard ground for her to crash into, she is instead, eventually met with the embrace of water. Cold and dark, it envelopes her that feeling of weightlessness taking hold once more. Sinking slowly to the bottom, eyes transfixed to the fading light above.


It surrounds her as she is walking suddenly. Unsure of how she got there. But she follows the sounds of whimpering. Tucked deep into the cave she finds a battered creature, curled into a ball. Reaching for him, she smiles at the blue fur and the little nubs that were just the start of some antlers.

He looks up at her and smiles, “Oh...Hello. Are you here to help me?”

Even as she nods, Wordsmith sees the shadowed figure of her sister standing behind him. A cruel smile on her lips, actions mimicking her own now perfectly. Reaching for him at the same time, “Let’s go…my Brightsoul…” their voices speaking in unison. Guilt radiates from her form, the small precious bundle in her arms walking out of the darkness of the cave into the blinding light only to find herself yet somewhere else again.

Sitting on a dock, a familiar mountain range in the distance she looks over to her newly found brother Abraxas and he says.

“You have to accept the loss, even if it hurts and live in the moment.”

“What if I fail them?”

“Then you are weak? Are you not?”

In the place of her brother is just herself now, a cruel smile and eyes completely black devoid of light. “Is that not what you are? Weak?”

Trying to get away, not wanting this moment to be ruined as well. But the surface changes to quicksand, her weight dragging her down.

“Please…” her voice pathetic and barely above a whisper.

“Too late for that…Weaksmith…”

A bright light pierces the darkness and she runs toward it. “My Wordsmith…” name spoken softly and with love. “I trust you…just as I love you…” though no matter how fast she runs the light is always just out of reach.

“You think you deserve that? Think you deserve her?”

Once more she taunts herself, blocking the path, darkness taking over. “You are nothing! A plague to those who’s light you will steal and leave dead! Like you did to me! To Tyr! Who is next? Brightsoul?”

His image appears beside the dark version of her sister. The light gone from him, antlers cut off and he looks up at her with the same black eyes. “I thought you were going to protect me?”

“She does not protect anyone…” Avery speaks as she steps forward. “Isn’t that right…Weaksmith? You only protect yourself!”

Now she is standing on the wall with Ash, watching the others and she feels the smaller woman get close to her. Making her recall how Abraxas had offered her his hand, but for whatever reason she hesitates, smiling down at her instead.

Then they are thrust into chaos of combat, the world ringing from the blows she suffered. Hearing Ash screaming for help, Wordsmith screams for Galdric to come aid her. Everything is happening so fast and when she is finally able to get her breath again she is fighting to get Ash. Holding her close and rushing for the door.

“I have you…I will not let you go…”

Then she is gone, taken from her arms and the scene shifts once more.

Kneeling beside Ash's bed, she finally reaches out to take her now cold hand. “I am so sorry…I…was not…”

“Strong enough,” she hears her own voice behind her. “Are you surprised?” tone mocking. “You are weak! You only hurt and take! Look around you!”

Galdric laid nearly dying, Helion in no better shape.

“You! You did this!” the voice a harsh whisper in her ear. “Imagine if Brightsoul had come…” a chill ran up her spine. “As it is…you nearly lost her…” the tent disappearing to show Tempest covered in blood her light dim. “She lingered in that battle for you...why are you still standing when there are others that deserve it more?”

Voice from those that she loved and cared for now mocked her, questioning her intentions. Wanting to know why so many died around her?Why so many were hurt around her? It is oppressive in nature, suffocating as a scream of anguish tears from her throat and she holds herself, the darkness closing in.

“You are more a plague on this land…to these people…”

Tenderheart looms over her with Ash beside her, “It should have been you…”

Waking with a start in the infirmary eyes taking a moment to refocus as a pain seizes in her chest stealing her breath for a moment. Tears rolling down her cheeks, her silent sobs going unheard in the aftermath.

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