Illidan's Private Journal - A Day Unbroken
(Journal fragment, penned by Illidan's hand)
I brought no offering, save crescent rolls still warm from the baker's oven.
Once I would have hidden behind wit for such a thing—too plain, too mortal.
But she smiled, and I forgot to be clever.
I showed her my city, not the polished version the Magisters parade,
but the narrow bridges, the places where magic hums quietly
because no one is listening.
She listened. Always she listens.
And I find myself wanting to fill the silence with truth.
In Darkgrove's hall, the constellations bloomed for her.
She gasped, and I felt pride rise in me like tide -
not for the craft, but for her wonder.
When her fingers brushed mine, I forgot the rune's name.
I only remembered warmth.
Later, beneath the gardens' bloom,
she stole the last bite of cheese from my hand.
I kissed her fingertips instead of scolding her.
There are lessons even Magisters cannot teach.
By evening, the harbor lights trembled on the water.
She stood beside me, hair stirring in the wind,
and for a moment the whole of Suramar
felt small enough to fit between our joined hands.
She kissed me.
I have imagined power beyond measure,
but none that felt like this -
a quiet so vast it remakes the world.
I asked her to walk with me again. She said yes.
I know better than to believe in forever,
but tonight, her hand rested in mine,
and the world, for once, did not ask for more.