Zehira

Zehira Al'dair
Status	Active
Race	Human
Gender	Female
Guild	Necromancer
Instance	Prime

Drawing of Zehira dressed like a cat by the player of Maxwelinski

Well hello, I know I know, you're wondering why I am what I am, what I do what I do, why I don't feel any sort of well anything at all. The answer is simple, at least simple to me. I am a killer, I kill with no emotion, no thought, no care. I will take down as many of you as I can, and anyone that wants to get in my way. Let the others play with their little knives, I see the bigger picture. My work is my own, my path is dark. Come and join me and feel the true meaning, see what I see, hear what I hear, learn what I know. It's just one simple step, just a little blood, I promise it doesn't hurt in the end.

You are Corruption's Death Zehira Dae'ris, Nightmare of Velaka

You have an oval face, unflinching and hardened lurid saffron eyes, a disdainfully scrunched nose and dimples surrounded by a cloud of penumbral spectrolite bats. Your red-streaked eerie black hair is long and wavy, and is worn in a tangled mass with some nightmare black Dergati's Night blossoms displaying bloodgem centers dangling above one ear. You have pasty white skin and a delicate array of tiny crimson poppies following the lines of a sleek, sylphlike figure. Your nose is pierced with a slender hoop connected to a vine-like chain that trails across your right cheek, draped with delicate thealstone wisteria that rest against your face. The vine terminates in an earring that resembles a wisteria bloom. Your left wrist has a tattoo of a crimson eye surrounded by a black sphere.

I write this as the lucid moments come, sometimes I believe that it's just so one day I will know who I used to be, not who I've become. There is no fault on anyone, not one person. I knew that the day would come when I would have to choose who to be. In my mind, there is no right or wrong. From the first moment that he called to me that summer day as we stood at the stones, there was no doubt what my mettle would be. I never fought it, there was no need. I've been called brash, immature, impulsive and perhaps to an extent that is true.

Some think that it's all about power, it is not just about power, it's about everything that comes along with it. It is more about being who I am destined to be. When the voices are not calling, it's very quiet, like now, as I stare at the winter sky on this desolate island that I have chosen to continue my studies upon. M'riss is very unforgiving and to stand alone in the midst of a desert has been called insanity. That's not too far off right? Or is it something that has already overtaken me to the deepest recess of my core. They say that I am cruel, uncaring, unloving. They say that I am not who I used to be. It was a steep plunge to take the dive off of the edge of the knife, but I had always known, deep down inside I had always known. My path is clear, if the voices ever stop... my mind screams and my eye twitches, it's gone as soon as it started.

There is no more, the pull is gone, I have come home. Death always wins.

They fear monsters. They run from them. Sometimes the world no longer needs a hero. Sometimes what it needs... is a monster'''

It has been said that time heals all wounds. I don't agree. The wounds remain. Time - the mind, protecting its sanity - covers them with some scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it is never gone.

"You're right. I am a monster. And I've done bad. I've done things you can't even imagine. Horrible, evil, messy things. And I've loved every damn minute. So thank you, for reminding me who I really am. "

Drawing of Zehira dressed like a panda before dropping a glass orb by the player of Maxwelinski

Time stopped in moments, and then the moments passed. The shadowed lands around the me were not the oblivion that would take the soul into it's final rest. Steps could not be taken, nothing could be touched, there was nothing but noise and the resounding screams of the tangled webs of burning bodies and ripping limbs. One by

one the bodies would fall and the screams would fill the black ink of the shadows. I felt as if I was wasting away in this place. The shroud that separated me from the them had been rifting, and tearing, but the I paid it no mind. It was not my time to flourish, it was not my time to, see what lay on the other side.

But who am I? I am one half of a whole, I am the thing that makes grown men cry. I am the thing hiding beneath the bed to drag the wanting living parts to the Void. Restless, implacable, inescapable, and a foe to all that would try and stand in the way of the final rest. Selfish desires, malice, darkness, greed and hate, that lie in everyone.

You will not stop me, you will not stand in my way of the final judgement that is to be made. Quiet and organized, I will take you apart like clockwork, layer by layer stripping your defenses to leave you a quivering mass of what you once were. I will take pleasure in your flaws and torture you with surgical precision. Rifling

through every back drawer of your mind to pluck out the most painful memories, cataloging every weakness and finding every flaw, no matter how small and forgotten it is. Your companions will hate you, your friends will turn to poison, and you will beg me to save you. My angst will grow and I will grow stronger. I will retrieve my other half

and free myself into the oblivion. No one is safe, nothing is sacred. The happenstance has caught the my attention. Murder, rape, anger and hate, that which I need to take over completely. The weak willed, that wished to live the life among the living. To break through the Shroud and pretend that death did not

exist. Weak willed and afraid of death. Death for some was not only the beginning, it was the life that had been ripped from them in a moment of weakness, in a wrong turn down a one way street. The anger that blew the fuse, the words that caused the shot to be fired. The dangerous liasions between two forbidden bodies who then drown

within their own blood. The rift was here, the rift was calling to me and the unending desire to spread malice while able. Anger and hate were two very powerful things when used and twisted in the right way. Squeezing, turning and floating upon the shadowed edges of the two worlds, I was lifted among that which merely

floated on thin air. It wasn't hard, it was merely where I wanted to be. There was no clawing from the grave, there was no pushing dirt out of the way of the sudden appearance that was made. Sometimes, the thing about dead people was, they didn't know that they were dead. They wanted to be on this mortal coil that

housed them. A hazed gaze was looked through, the veil had been lifted and I stood within the shadows of the realm that was going to hell in a hand basket. So here I was in the flesh, in the cesspool that this place had become. The water had never washed it all away, not even when the mortal body had drowned.

It took days to find it, days and days. The angst and anger had time to sit and brew, to become the thing that was standing now before these, things. Let us get one thing straight. I am the thing that goes bump in the night, I am the creepy monster hiding under your bed, I am the boogeyman within the closet of every child that wakes up

screaming in the night. A for-boding feeling would surround any within it's sights, the chill of the air dropping another ten degrees at least. Invisible, yet on the thought of every viable person within it's touch. I am the mask of a thousand faces, I am that which you will never see. I am a shadowed touch of a lover, the whispered word of a mother.

The screaming of the banshee that fills the night air with the lick of lips that do not convey words. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. I am words unspoken and the brush of darkness that will turn the hardest heart to a chilly wave. The pricks of hair that stand on end, when the realization hits that there are things that will never be

understood. I am the shadow of my former self, and I am here.

A sketch of Zehira in her own hand after waking up from a hard night of shenanigans.

“MEMORY'S SO TREACHEROUS. ONE MOMENT YOU'RE LOST IN A CARNIVAL OF DELIGHTS, WITH POIGNANT CHILDHOOD AROMAS , THE FLASHING NEON OF PUBERTY, ALL THAT SENTIMENTAL CANDY-FLOSS ...

THE NEXT , IT LEADS YOU SOMEWHERE YOU DON'T WANT TO GO...

...SOMEWHERE DARK AND COLD, FILLED WITH THE DAMP, AMBIGUOUS SHAPES OF THINKS YOU'D HOPED WERE FORGOTTEN.

MEMORIES CAN BE VILE, REPULSIVE LITTLE BRUTES. LIKE CHILDREN, I SUPPOSE. HAHA.

BUT CAN WE LIVE WITHOUT THEM? MEMORIES ARE WHAT OUR REASON IS BASED UPON. IF WE CAN'T FACE THEM, WE DENY REASON ITSELF!

ALGHOUGH, WHY NOT? WE AREN'T CONTRACTUALLY TIED DOWN TO RATIONALITY!

THERE IS NO SANITY CLAUSE!

SO WHEN YOU FIND YOURSELF LOCKED ONTO AN UNPLEASANT TRAIN OF THOUGHT, HEADING FOR THE PLACES IN YOUR PAST WHERE THE SCREAMING IS UNBEARABLE, REMEMBER THERE'S ALWAYS MADNESS.

MADNESS IS THE EMERGENCY EXIT...

YOU CAN JUST STEP OUTSIDE, AND CLOSE THE DOOR ON ALL THOSE DREADFUL THINGS THAT HAPPENED. YOU CAN LOCK THEM AWAY...

FOREVER.” ― Alan Moore, Batman: The Killing Joke