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| - The tiny forsaken woman sat quietly at her desk, her blue glowing eyes staring at the journal that lay open in front of her. It was late, the quiet hours just before the dawning of a new day, and the only sounds on the ship was the quiet creak of wood as it shifted upon the water and the occasional quiet snore from the rotund little brown rabbit sleeping at her feet. A single candle burned upon the desk, casting a dim glow over Mioria as she quietly contemplated her life, or rather her unlife. She stared at the book in front of her, but did not really read the small tight scrawl of her own hand, there was too much in her head to really attempt to work on anything remotely resembling her knowledge search project. Her memories had returned. A single innocent conversation, a brief moment of i
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| abstract
| - The tiny forsaken woman sat quietly at her desk, her blue glowing eyes staring at the journal that lay open in front of her. It was late, the quiet hours just before the dawning of a new day, and the only sounds on the ship was the quiet creak of wood as it shifted upon the water and the occasional quiet snore from the rotund little brown rabbit sleeping at her feet. A single candle burned upon the desk, casting a dim glow over Mioria as she quietly contemplated her life, or rather her unlife. She stared at the book in front of her, but did not really read the small tight scrawl of her own hand, there was too much in her head to really attempt to work on anything remotely resembling her knowledge search project. Her memories had returned. A single innocent conversation, a brief moment of inattention and a door had opened, letting in the flood of her past, all the pain and uncertainty had returned. A soft curse escaped her lips, a curse at Arthas for not truly taking away the memories, a curse at her former husband, and a curse at her former captors. The hope that her horrid past had been forever lost to her was shattered. She knew what and who she had been, she understood the monster that she now was, and she burned with hatred for it. Huk and the Elf had told her of the past she’d forgotten; she’d believed them both and had been grateful to Arthas for that one small blessing. She was grateful no more. In an attempt to make her a functional tool for his new army, Arthas had blocked her memories, her phobias and her fear. He had not taken them away, and as time away from the iron grip that the Lich King held over his minions lengthened, the block had begun to crumble. Mio blinked and looked up from the book, staring at the claws which served as her hands; a soft sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes. She could see all of the past in lurid colorful detail. A small human woman sat on a blanket in the yard in front of a small farm house. Beside her on the blanket a toddler crawled around chasing a kitten, burbling happily as his little pudgy fingers sunk into the kitten’s fur. A peal of laugher rang out as a slightly older girl child chased a dog around the yard, throwing sticks for it to chase. The woman sat trimming herbs from their stems, and laying them out on wood and metal mesh racks to be dried. She smiled at her children and raised her eye to the field where her husband worked, plowing the fields to plant another crop. The scene changed. The interior of the house was dim, and coughing echoed throughout the home. The girl child was laying ashen in her bed as coughs wracked her small frame. The toddler sat on his mother’s lap, crying and coughing as he clung to his mother’s shirt. The husband looked on in helpless rage while his wife worked tirelessly, tying poultice after poultice, and herb after herb to ease the sickness her children had contracted. The scene changes again. Two fresh small graves sat in the cemetery. The mourners had all left, with the exception of the husband and wife. She knelt down at the head of the graves, tears streaming down her face, sobs wracking her small frame. Her husband stood at the foot of the graves. His hands clenched in rage he glared at the ground in front of him, blinking back tears his gaze turned from the graves to the form of his wife. Before the minds eye, a final change of the picture. The small woman’s hands were tied; and she stared at her husband in abject horror as he shoved her bruised body into the grip of the brothel owner in Stratholm. “Take her, she let my children die, it’s what she deserves!” The greasy man who now held her in an iron grip smiled and eyed his new possession. With a leering smirk he tossed a bag of coin at the man now selling his wife. “May that ease the pain of their passing, and allow you to leave… She’ll be in good hands with me.. I’ll make sure she doesn’t forget what she has done wrong.” Her screams echoed overtop the laughter of her new tormenter. A sharp slap and thud abruptly ended the screams. Without a backward glance, the husband walked away with the money. The grating of wood against wood as the chair slid abruptly back from the table startled Hope from her slumber. She blinked her eyes and wiggled her nose as Mio rose from her desk and paced the room. A wild look of rage crossed Mio’s face and as she began to pace around the small room her claws reflexively opened and closed. She wanted to scream and rage, to destroy. She spun around the room in a circle, seeing her sword she grasped its hilt, slung it on her back and wrenched the door open. She spun out of the door, letting it glide shut behind her as she raced up to the deck of the ship. A sharp whistle brought her wind rider down to the deck. Clambering upon his back, her eyes glowing dark blue with fury she urged him off of the ship and away from her family. She flew far away, where she could unleash the rage without fear of harming those who cared for her, who had taken her broken monstrous self in and claimed her as their own.
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