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| - In my dreams, I am somebody else. Quellaxu, not the blood elf. Quellaxu, the vampiric, fallen fairy queen of the magical Celestra, of a realm quite alien to Azeroth. The Quellaxu I am in my dreams, me but not, is powerful and old like a god. As exotically beautiful as terrifying. Veritable landmasses for lips, sanguine eyes, and even little black horns. The Quellaxu of my dreams was spawned by a mana tree, like all fairies of Celestra. As queen, I was loved. My wings! I wish I could show them to you as I see them in my dreams! Scintillating universes of color and light! Anyway… …
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| abstract
| - In my dreams, I am somebody else. Quellaxu, not the blood elf. Quellaxu, the vampiric, fallen fairy queen of the magical Celestra, of a realm quite alien to Azeroth. The Quellaxu I am in my dreams, me but not, is powerful and old like a god. As exotically beautiful as terrifying. Veritable landmasses for lips, sanguine eyes, and even little black horns. The Quellaxu of my dreams was spawned by a mana tree, like all fairies of Celestra. As queen, I was loved. My wings! I wish I could show them to you as I see them in my dreams! Scintillating universes of color and light! My innocence was ended and my permanent love stolen by Veyghul, lord of undead, creator of vampires, maker of what I am. I hate him, fear him… love him. And I am in perpetual war, battling my need for him. Once the darkness raped me, my wings became leathery and black as a moonless, starless winter night, my body and thoughts just as cold. Not to mention the fangs… Strange that I am a different Quellaxu, always, in my dreams. Stranger still that the two fairies I shamefully introduced to the path of darkness are devilish Azraea, and through Azraea, impish Kyumi… I am obsessed with the dream me. Her tragic life is so much more interesting, and compelling, than mine. It also feels like… it’s just more … ME. I think it’s who I am supposed to be. I am not at home with who I am here. So often, I find myself incomplete. I’m missing something. Perhaps it’s the wings. Perhaps it’s the cold, compelling touch, and a look of lust, from a dark god. Something’s not right. I am missing something. I have forever felt that way, and I am certain I always will. And because of these things I so often feel dead inside. Ayahuasqa, whose jungle juice namesake allows her to speak to the dead and other spirits (so she says), once described to me a pink-haired gnome in the Alliance who was not a native of Azeroth, but of the realm called Earth, home of Celestra. I often wonder how I would go about finding that gnome. Even if I found her, even if she really exists, what then? I’m sure these things are of no consequence. Pointless, like all things seem to be... I am always dreaming of that other world, and another me. I perpetually pine for the dark touch of a forsaken god of my dreams. And I will never find peace. Anyway… I run the guild formed by my … friend, Azraea, Forsaken murderer extraordinaire. The Duplicitous Edge. As Azraea is fond of saying: you cannot have life without death – it’s the duplicitous edge that we all walk upon. We’re … a family, of sorts. I occupy my time trying to help our “family” find fulfillment. Sometimes I can take some mild satisfaction when I feel like I’ve cut a stone into potentially permanent perfection... I suppose my relationships I have with the guild are the reasons I get up each day and keep at it. Beautiful, maddening Kyumi… Stalwart Urguun… … But I’ll always be dreaming of another world, and a different me.
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