Part of the ongoing Mirror, Mirror storyline. Meanwhile, in Darnassus… ))
Her breath caught in her throat a third time. Frustrated, Ida balled her fist and and let out an exasperated sigh. She eyed the hourglass set upon the nightstand, her glance catching the final grains of sand slipping through its slimmed center. Wincing, she rose from the floor, unfolding her legs from their lotus position, her hand rubbing an eager cramp that immediately woke upon her leg moving.
She went to the hourglass and stood, staring. Darnassus made it difficult to determine the time of day. The kaldorei city was beautiful beyond words, yet the permanent twilight that hung over it was dizzying at times. Ida struggled to keep track of time.
Rubbing her temples, Ida quietly attempted to quash the latest bout of nerves that twisted in the pit of her stomach. An uneaten plate of food waited beside the hourglass on the table, the assortment of bread and cheeses growing stale. She eyed the plate as well, then turned away, neglecting it a bit longer.
She turned to her pack instead. When she and Robin last went to Stormwind, Ida decided to stop by her shop for supplies. The satchel slouched in the corner, hardly touched since Ida arrived days prior, even more neglected than the food.
Ida greeted it with a pat. Though small, it was a small relief to see something familiar. She knelt beside the pack and began sorting through it, removing a small set of belongings: two books, a cloak, a hairbrush, even a few vials and herbs to continue her private study on potions…
A skittering sound caught her attention. Her breath again caught in her throat, Ida whirled toward the noise. Somehow, without conscious thought, her hands grasped at one of her books and it whirled about with her, smacking into the wall toward the sound of the skittering. Again and again she brought down the book, her eyes wide and breath panting, panic seizing and overcoming her with its whim. When one set of knuckles split open from the panicked barrage, Ida finally regained her senses. Nursing her bleeding hand, she dropped the book to the floor, leaving a soundly flattened rune spider behind.
Ida visibly relaxed at the sight of the rune spider. Of course, she silently berated herself at her own jumpiness, her own stupidity. A guarding spell of her own invention, designed to sniff out seeker runes. The seeking runes quelled recently, but Ida thought it best to let her own runes wander. Fashioning them into the shape of spiders was for both pragmatic and comfort reasons — they needed to be mobile, and she personally liked spiders. Reminded her of home.
The young witch turned, leaving the damaged rune spider and silently promising to fix it later. She was midway to the bed before something about the spider caught her eye.
In its tiny jaws was another rune, also damaged by Ida's insistence to bludgeon it with a book. It was far smaller but a similar color, yet once picked out from the damaged magical heap, its danger stark and clear.
A rune. A seeking rune.
Not from Ida. From Claret.
No longer staring, not even daring to breathe, Ida breathlessly ran from the room. The door emptied into the twilight streets, where night perpetually met dawn but failed to end either or each.