Everything was destroyed. The wood piled up neatly beside the fireplace was flung everywhere, furniture was toppled over and knocked down with force and broken glass was scattered across the floor of the little abandoned cottage she and Tarenor had claimed as their own when moving to Ambermill.
A fit… A moment of rage where nothing else mattered. She didn’t care about her Warden’s position, who watched her act the way she was, or who heard her screams of temporary insanity. Veniti had lost herself in her own emotions.
Her sister was gone. She didn’t care if they were related or not. It did not matter to her, they were sisters. They shared an unbreakable bond that not even Garrosh himself could take away if he ever tried to. They were always there for each other, more so, Veniti was always there to rescue Aviata.
But not this time. Doesn’t matter what she did, there was nothing Veniti could do to rescue her sister.
“My dear sister, I can’t save you from this one…” she sobbed.
But as much as Veniti blamed herself for her sister’s death, for not protecting her like she did every time, she couldn’t bare the guilt for pressuring the blame on herself. It only made things worse.
She was the first to find out. Early yesterday, a strange Pandaren approached her, to give her news of Aviata’s public execution. Unsure of what to do, she worked the rest of the day to keep her mind occupied. But nothing she did could remove the thought that her sister’s life was taken.
Now… she had to stop working, come to the terms of realization, and plan a funeral.
Veniti looked around as she was gaining focus, and noticed Esh’arthe licking her bloodied hand. She forced herself a smile to notice her companion, as serious as he always was… had his ears pinned back, nudging Veniti up as if almost trying to comfort her. She got up and looked around at the cottage, shaking her head and stepping out for some air.
She wanted revenge. She wanted to kill every Kor’kron that she laid eyes on. She wanted to kill them, kill their families; it did not matter to her. But a thought had crossed Veniti’s mind,
Would she want me to do this?
No. She wouldn’t. Aviata would want Veniti to stay strong, for her, for her people. She would want her to be brave, to be fearless.
Veniti went back inside and looked at what started her tantrum in the first place. A black dress, suited for formal wear. The outfit she would be wearing to say her final goodbyes to Aviata.