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[Ceinwyn ab'Arawn]

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So confusing is the mind, how perplexing the complexities of nature. How so often one can be so rational and calm, maintaining the impassive front to the world, while at the same time a storm brews within.

And so now did she stand, facing the blackened brick wall, her forehead in contact with the coolness of the stone, contemplating her next move. The rational had been done, and the game was set. The players needed only to perform their parts and it would be won. No use worrying about it now. What would happen would happen. This was not what disturbed her.

What disturbed her now was the irrational. Things that had ever been out of her control, taunted by fate, dangled in her face. Though she oft times had no one to blame but herself, many a scapegoat she would make when the mood so struck her to punish someone and release the anger at her own mistakes. And we must never admit to those out loud, must we? For that is when they start to look at you as weak. And we couldn't have that.

No, 'twas better to learn from one's mistakes in private, and never share the knowledge, because if you do, you give up the advantage. And we wouldn't want that, now, would we? She could confidently claim that her mistakes were few, and they were, however, there was the minor detail they all shared. She was constantly being disappointed in the affairs of the heart, as they are sometimes called.

It is never good to look upon the one you had chosen and to find disappointment in them, oft times through no grand fault of their own. Perhaps she was just too picky, her mind too chaotic and thus just randomly choosing at whim? If so, the future appeared very bleak.

Those of the light could claim she was in it for the Power. It had started out that way, true, when she had needed the power she thought service to Oblivion could provide. The power to achieve her goal, the destruction of Trinsic. That had failed and now her army was strong enough to make a serious try for it. But, what about after success? What then? Life was no fairy tale with a happily ever after. Her only goal had been to destroy the town from the young age of 15, and should success come her way, what would she do then?

Grow stagnant and fester from boredom? Surely not. Instead, she had taken the reigns of fate into her own hands, and given herself a second chance at a once promising pairing. Someone to while away boredom with, to have fun causing chaos with. Where once she had first felt that Thrax had been stolen from her, she now felt that he had been freed from the virtues for this very reason. For her to weave a new body from his blood and tissues, to give him new freedom, and thusly herself a second chance at something stable. And her mind desperately needed stability.

There were those who might call her sentimental, they were correct. But, did sentiment make one weak? Absolutely not. Anyone that felt that way should take into account that one of the greatest, most powerful people on the face of Sosaria was Minax, and was she not motivated by sentiment?

She would at night wander into her lab and gaze upon the sleeping Thrax-demon. She wondered if he sensed her presence. He probably did, in some way. To allow this sentiment, or not, she puzzled. The risks would have to be weighed, before the wall was let down. Sharing a bed with someone was one thing, but sharing one's heart was another matter. She didn't even know if she was capable of it, or if she wanted it. But, still, she felt herself hoping, and she wondered what the consequences would be, this time.

[Thrax]

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Thrax awoke with a start. To him, sleep was a thing he realized he must get used to all over again. "This mortal flesh," he thought to himself, "shall be a burden to me." He rose out of bed and dressed himself quickly, and that invariably included his armor. He looked forward to the coming battle and he unsheathed his kryss, "Frostfire," as he had named it, to make sure the poison coating was still potent. Hearing laughter in the halls beyond, he strained to listen closely and overheard voices referring to the recent victory over the Consensus of Light. To his shock and dismay he realized he had slept for two full days. The battle had came and went, was fought and won. Angrily he slammed the blade into its scabbard and stormed out of the room.

In the darkened hallway he met Ceinwyn. Despite his foul humor, he greeted her warmly. "Greetings my lady," he said, lowering his head out of respect. She acknowledged the greeting and he continued speaking, "I wish someone had roused me from my slumber; I anticipated fighting the battle and have missed it," he complained.

She told him the battle was taken well in hand as it was and that there had been no need for anyone to disturb his sleep on account of it. Besides, she noted, she was not sure if his rest was not required, that it was not needful to acclimatize him to his new body.

He had no answer to that, wondering if it were not so. Surely this new body---its flesh---felt odd, different than what he remotely recalled when he shared it with the human will and soul. It was supple and pliant, much like that of a newborn babe. He wondered if it would always be this way, but hoped not.

Dimissing those thoughts and concerns, he allowed himself the simple pleasure of an enjoyable conversation and walk with Ceinwyn.