The morning after (Quin bit)

Everything hurts when I wake up, tucked securely into an unfamiliar bed.  I try to remember what happened, try to figure out where I could be, why everything hurt so damn much.  I can feel the fading effects of healing.  The smell of incense hits my nose and I begin to sort it out.

The Cathedral.  It has to be.  I was in Stormwind.

I’d come to lay flowers at the memorial.  I’d come to remember.

I squeeze my eyes shut.  None of this should have happened.  I should have been more careful, listened to my instincts sooner when they’d begun to scream that something wasn’t right.

How many of them had there been?

Six, I think?

The face of the one with the star tattoo and the scar on his jaw will never leave my memory, though I know I will someday try to forget.  I won’t forget his leer, though, the cold smile, like ice on the glaciers of Northrend.

“You’re the one.  Nice that the Scourge left you something.  Tell them you’ve forgotten what you saw when they ask.”

I remember saying I didn’t understand—what the hell was he talking about?  The expression on his face had turned grim.

“You’ll know when they ask.”

I’d pressed.  They decided I was too mouthy.  I decided they were too handsy and broke one’s jaw.

That was when the blows started falling.

I squeeze my eyes more tightly shut and roll onto my side, clutching the covers around me.  The covers are warm, comforting.

What the hell was he talking about?

What did I see that’s got someone frightened enough for all of that?

I have no answers and still don’t when sleep takes me again.