Who would have known that something was terribly wrong by the way with which the Moonmage smoothly took herself to her Order's Tower? Who could have read the slate of blankness that was her face or truely interpret the pasty whiteness of usually healthy grey-blue skin? It didn't matter now, really, since within her private chambers Deh'laNorael felt more than safe.
A cold terror balled itself deep within the Earthspeaker, a terror she hadn't felt since childhood. IT was still living. IT was laying in wait. IT was scheming, plotting, ready to claim what had illuded it years before. She was certain. At least within the Tower she was safe from IT's detection. So within the Tower she would stay, within her chambers until she could collect herself from what was more than blind terror.
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