my interests include crushing skulls, looking at beautiful women, and being a cat mom.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
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WARNING: Graphic Violence
Hello. If you’ve managed to find this letter inside of a golden egg-shaped box, I would like to congratulate you. You’re likely the very first person that I share this with. When deciding whether or not I would tell another soul about the things I’ve done, I could not ignore the ecstasy that filled me as I imagined a complete stranger, an absolute nobody, an unknown variable knowing my story. Instances like these are what really excite me.
Although we may never meet, allow me to tell you a few things about myself. I have led a life that most would call “normal” up until this point. I am studying the noble path to priesthood. I understand that it may be a common path for a woman such as myself, however it is the path that will allow me to help the most people. I was born into an upper class family to parents who loved me. I practiced many different musical instruments growing up and was even able to fall in love a couple of times.
I tell you this background information, dear stranger, not to boast but rather to shed some insight into a killer’s background. Many have fallen to the false notion of believing those who kill have lost something critical in themselves. However, my momentary friend, there is but one thing that make a killer, one simply needs the drive to be able to plunge the knife.
This brings me to my main story, I have just committed murder. I won’t apologize for it as I feel no sense of grief or remorse, but I will share the riveting details with you here. The thought of you holding this note and at the same time holding my very life in your hands fills me with nothing but pure joy. And so for you, my confidant, I will carry on in hopes that perhaps, something will be gained from it. Who knows, perhaps you have also felt the itch of curiosity as to what it would feel like to kill someone.
In this day and age, much of the killing is left to adventurers. Many of them do not come back the same, using excuses such as greed and good will to allow them to continue pressing forward. For a long time, I wondered what could have pushed them to feel that way. What horrors could they have witnessed that changed them to such a degree?
I have always been committed to helping people, truly helping people. You might find it strange that I think this way while also choosing to end another’s life, but allow me to ask you this question: who is there to help when one is dead? The answer is no one. Who is there to care about when one is dead? The answer is no one. Who is there to feel sorry toward when one is dead? The answer is no one.
When one’s life has ended, there is no longer anything one can do for them. Of course, one could feel sorry for the fallen’s family. There is no grief like the loss of a loved one and for that, I did not want to be responsible. That is why to find the answers to my questions, I knew that I would have to search far and wide before I found someone suitable. Though once I was able to utilize my hobbies, I knew that it was only a matter of time before I found a candidate.
One of my favorite pastimes is spectating. A lot can be learned from looking at others. With only a glimpse, you can peer into one’s entire life without ever meeting them. After spending so much time in Silvermoon, it is only natural to forget that each person you come across, each body you bump in the street, each soul you see at the market, is someone with an individual story as complex as your own. To be able to see into that once is breathtaking in itself but when I made a habit of it, I was able to watch as these stories developed.
At first, I only did this occasionally. I would find myself on a chair in the tavern as I watched what people ordered. If someone caught my interest, I would observe them quite carefully and take note of any basic information such as their name and occupation. As time went on though, I began to grow more impatient. My victim would have to be perfect. They could not have a partner or have children to mourn them and for this, I had to frequent the city on a routine schedule.
I began to visit every weekend. As I found potential victims, I started to follow them home. Once I was able to find out where they lived, it was much simpler. If they were a commoner, they’d likely working during the day. This meant that I could search through their mail and inside of their home. It sounds as if it may be a daunting task, but there was only one instance in which I was at risk.
It was an elderly woman, perhaps in her late 300s or so. Every other day, she would spend a few hours at home before spending her night at the city tavern. Her hair was always pulled back into a sloppy bun with wavy strings of grey hair poking out in different directions. Although she was of an older age, I felt that no one would miss her if she was gone. There was no wedding ring around her finger and no one seemed to acknowledge her beyond what was necessary.
After observing her for a time, I made the decision to follow her home one night. She had been sitting in her seat for about a few hours, steadily sipping on a glass of wine. She left a small tip before walking back towards her home. I trailed behind her slowly, waiting until she had fully settled inside to knock on the door. Her delicate frame was partially concealed behind the door when she answered. I carried a look of worry of my face as I began to speak with her.
“Excuse me, ma'am?”
Her beady eyes looked over to me with a soft expression. She responded with a small “Yes?” I could hardly contain myself as I looked over her. I had only brought a dagger with me, but I could imagine all the beautiful ways to end her mundane existence.
I shyly looked down towards my feet, feigning innocence. After speaking with her for some time, I had told her a tale of my pet who had gone missing. I had been taking it for a walk when it had gotten away and was wondering if she had seen it at all. After apologizing and promising to keep a careful eye, she invited me inside for a cup of tea in an effort to console me. I told her that I was sorry to trouble her, but she insisted I enter her home and so I followed her in.
Her home had a perfectly symmetrical arrangement of doors and windows, so I knew that it would be simple to exit after I performed the task. I made myself comfortable while looking over her belongings. My initial assessment of her could not be more accurate as this woman, Norine Whitewood, was the perfect target. There was nothing beyond the most basic furniture, as if her life amounted to nothing but what the average person’s was supposed to be.
As the pot whistled with hot water, my body felt as if it was on fire. My heart pounded so heavily that I feared it may stop before she returned. I felt aware of my own mortality and nervous of her own in my hands at the same time, but it only excited me further to satiate my curiosity. She poured the tea into white teacups. I focused on my breathing, it needed to be stable, I needed to be in control. Norine extended her arm, handing me a cup. As I took it into my hands, I let it slip onto the floor. She followed the glass with her eyes as it cracked into a mess of leaves and water on the floor. Gasping, Norine looked back over to me with a look of surprise, exactly how I had planned.
Using my fist, I made an effort to knock her to the ground. After I hit the side of her head, she made a sudden wheeze. Stumbling backwards, she instinctively attempted to catch herself on a nearby table. I quickly took advantage of the situation by plunging my weapon into her chest. Looking over for another assessment, I could see blood trailing down her face but much of it was coming from the fresh wound. I tried to listen to the song that Norine’s body told as red splattered our surroundings in a beautiful rhythm with each beat of her heart.
I’m no professional and so when I was tasked with killing her, I was at a loss with how exactly to go about my plans. Steadily holding my dagger, I began to hack away at her body, starting with her neck. Norine was still in a state of shock, but she would soon make noise. It’s no simple task to get all the way through one’s body, but as I clunked away at the bone, there was a kind of resonance that added to the symphony.
She sputtered and make a guttural gurgling noise. All of her limbs had been laid out in different directions, each twitching and spasming with a mind of its own. It’s the sight you see after squishing a bug beneath your foot on the cobblestone. Her blood filled the cracks of the stone tiles on the floor as it poured around her body. Crimson stained her clothes, her ripped white blouse was covered in mangled tissue left over from me cracking open her chest cavity.
Cutting into her was like preparing a pheasant for a holiday dinner. It felt like raw meat as I sliced into her tough body. After some time had passed, the woman finally passed onto the afterlife, though blood continued to pool around her. I wiped the sweat off of my brow and cleaned off my blade. While I caught my breath, I chose to explore her bedroom a bit. It was fairly plain, save for a leather journal. Inside were cooking recipes and personal anecdotes. I stored it with me for later as a kind of trophy, but mostly I intended to read it later for pleasure. After that, I disposed of my stained clothes and the blade before going home.
Since then, my life has seen a sense of normalcy. Things are calm and I suspect that my environment plays a part in how I handle such an incident, but I cannot help but wonder if there are others. I wonder, dear stranger, if there was another such as myself who may have observed someone like you. Maybe you are the one I wonder about. Instances like these are what really excite me.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
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I used to like treasure hunting when I was a kid. There’s something about being told that I was weak and essentially useless in battle that made me think, “I want to be a badass adventurer.” I never wanted to make it my full-time gig, of course. I did have enough of a head on my shoulders to realize I could die.
Silvermoon may sound dangerous to explore now, but back then it seemed like a bright city surrounded by an endless forest for me to wander. Being a normal kid had its perks like making friends and getting invited to sleepovers, but I’m not like other girls🥴I used to spend a lot of time alone, either out on a make-believe expeditions or honing the little skills that I did posses. The woods might be unsafe, but nothing beats finding buried treasure, or so I once thought.
My father, Egos Dawnblood, is a magister. What that essentially means is that he’s a powerful mage with high expectations. Our family’s affinity to the arcane meant that I should have been something of a prodigy. Instead, I was extremely weak and basically one big disappointment. My father had the hardest time accepting that so when he was home, I made it a habit not to be. I would instead be out exploring in a world of my own.
That’s why it wasn’t unusual on a day like that one, for me to be poking my head where it shouldn’t have been. To me, I was a defender the imaginary world of Anos. I was on patrol with a wooden sword on my hip and I was looking around for anything suspicious. To my surprise, I found what looked like a large, golden egg. It was big enough to look like a dragon’s egg but when I dropped it on the ground, it was clear that there was nothing growing in there. The symbol of a phoenix was engraved onto the shiny gold exterior and so with it’s ornate appearance, it served as the perfect prop for my adventure.
That day, I protected a village and saved the world from sudden doom. The villagers had no means of funding themselves and so after I had saved them from the evil flying creature of doom, they gifted me with the egg. One day, it may grow into a companion that shows me things beyond my belief. After a long day of swinging around my sword, I headed home and completely forgot all about that egg.
It wasn’t until I visit my father’s home a little while ago that I was reminded all about it. I remembered my time saving the village and the countless other encounters my kid brain came up with. Once I was reunited with it and able to look it over though, it didn’t look as fancy as it once did. The golden paint was chipping, but it looked like there was something shining underneath. When I peeled the paint back, it looked more like a container than it did a dragon’s egg. There was a small latch connecting the two halves together. I took it back home to inspect further, but I was a little uneasy about opening it. Inside something hidden like that, I was expecting to find one of two things: either something really valuable like a pretty gem, or something really gross like a severed limb.
What I found inside turned out to be neither of the two. The egg contained a bundled stack of papers. Initially, I was bored but I chose to read it thinking that it could lead me to the real buried treasure. And now… well, I don’t know what to do with this information.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
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“I guess we’ll meet again in the afterlife.”
Her voice sounded hoarse as her labored breaths grew weaker. Wiping her blood off of my face, I towered above her.
“No, we won’t.”
I gave my best friend one last smirk before moving forward, crushing her body under my boot. Sevie let out a sharp groan as her bones crunched beneath my foot. The light was snuffed out from her eyes as she gave me a sad smile.
My leader laid ahead with a pleased look on his face. He handed me a weapon.
“You have potential.”
I replay that scene in my head a lot. Because I can’t sleep anymore, I tend to get lost in thought a lot. It can be the best time to decompress after a long day, but usually my mind moves faster than I can catch it. I tried meditation, but once I’m alone with my thoughts, my peace can very quickly spiral into a nightmare. I know that this world is cruel and that I’m not alone, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I can only share my deepest thoughts in this diary journal.
I miss Sevie and I feel guilty for not dying after I took her life. I’m afraid of becoming the monster that everyone thinks that I am. However, the demon commander (that’s me) has just the solution. In order to relieve myself of the demons that haunt me, I will be writing in this journal. Alanis said that it might help and I don’t think that there’s anyone on Azeroth that I could talk to about this. At first, I was wary about leaving a paper trail, but I’ve hidden it so well and I don’t intend on sharing this with anyone.
If by chance this journal has been found, proceed no further and return it to Gabrielle of House Dawnblood. You can find my contact information on the cover. If you do, however, choose to read on, take everything with a grain of salt. They’re definitely not real or true and if anyone says otherwise, it’s only because it’s based on a true story.
Tread carefully.
